


See All Evil REWRITE

by ApocalypticRepo



Category: BioShock
Genre: F/M, LetsSingtheDoomSong on fanfiction, Rewrite
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-03
Updated: 2016-11-13
Packaged: 2018-03-05 01:57:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 36
Words: 149,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3100817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ApocalypticRepo/pseuds/ApocalypticRepo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Duct rat Jamie Donovan knew the darkness of Rapture. Knew the dark secrets of those in power. All that knowledge just waiting for someone to tap in to. And that someone would be Augustus Sinclair, esquire. Augustus Sinclair/OC slowmance. Collaboration with CaliforniaStop's Scars of Utopia. Camille used with permission from her.</p><p>Update 11/22/17, I went through and corrected spelling and grammar mistakes. Tried to, at least.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

I tugged my hole-filled sweater closer to my body, the chill of the fabricated night bleeding in through the holes. Inside establishments, I could hear the cheers and toasts over drinks as they celebrated the New Years. Even the Limbo Room was hopping as Grace Holloway sang her famous tunes that gave hope to the poor bastards of the Drop. The booze there was brewed in a bathtub, and I’m fairly certain it was mixed with formaldehyde for potency, but as long as it tasted like alcohol, the patrons didn't seem to care.

The televisions mounted to the walls displayed the same thing they do on every New Years Eve: Andrew Ryan giving the same monologue about making Rapture the greatest city for the next year, followed by a toast and the countdown.

I dug into a trashcan, with the vague hopes of maybe finding a half-eaten bag of chips, a burger even. I wasn't picky since beggars can’t be choosers especially in this place that had been my… “home” for lack of a better term. The butterfly knife in my pocket kept most attackers at bay. A loud crash only earned a glance as a whore was backhanded by a john for something or another. The man would be dead in the morning since she was one of Fontaine's hookers and no one damaged _his_ property.

Such is life in the belly of the beast: Rapture.

On most days, I assumed my position leaning against the first 'N' of the King Pawn sign, watching as the beggar and downtrodden moved about like they had no care in the world other than the fact that they are starving to death ever so slowly or scratching at their arms until track marks appeared. It was pathetic really, they moved around like they owned the world and whenever someone like that Sinclair fellow would come around, they hissed at him like he was the vermin. Made me feel bad for the man, 'course I trusted him just about as far as I could throw him. He had a hotel of sorts down here called the Sinclair Deluxe that held anyone who could pay the rent. Rent was cheap, but it wasn't like people here had two nickels to rub together.

The poor and the down-on-their-luck would arrive at the doors, early in the morning. No matter the reason or the rhyme that they’d say to the businessman in a vague explanation, Sinclair would just smile and hand them a key to an apartment, take their down payment, tell them their rent and send them on their merry way. A smart man to collect their rent weekly and an even more intelligent man to own the bar – Sinclair Spirits – and cash in the rest of the money the poor soul would spend as the sad sap drowned their sadness in wine and beer.

If they weren't spending their money in the bars, they were buying a genetic goop called Plasmids to splice themselves up to look fit, beautiful, shoot electricity, burp fire, spit ice – you name it they probably had it. I even heard they were trying out a teleportation plasmid, but most test subjects would accidentally teleport themselves outside of the glass walls and drown in seconds. The market was still relatively new but booming – a new plasmid almost every week. The downside to something that made you equivalent to a superhero was that it was incredibly addictive and when people didn't get their ADAM, they fell into madness and with the abilities they had gained traveled around Rapture looking for their next fix, killing anyone who got in their way. Killing people like me.

Other than that, they would wander their way to Siren Alley, to a whorehouse called the Pink Pearl.

Not that the whores in the Pearl were any different from the splicers except Daniel would throw a fit if they started to splice up. Most got kicked out on their ass and ended up down in the Fisheries working under Frank Fontaine.

I guess you could call Siren Alley the red light district of California in the USA. Like most of the Betties down here, Siren Alley was born initially with a more respectable name, but only God remembers what it was. The Pink Pearl was just a bunch of rooms with a girl assigned to each one by the owner Daniel Wales who was a proper drunk and definitely cheaper than Eve's Garden in Poseidon Plaza. There were even a few rooms that for 5 Rapture dollars you could get a show from a few of the girls.

In Eve's Garden, the girls were well cared for and beautiful, classy even; while Pauper's Drop was not too far cry from any regular street prostitute with a pimp that beat them senseless. Only difference, the Pearl was a place where all the prostitutes would congregate and easier to find. People would come to the Pearl to scratch that itch they're ashamed of, even in a town with barely any laws.

Unfortunately, one of those whores was my mother, but only God himself could say if she were still alive or not. Perhaps I had lived a happier life before we came to Rapture, but I couldn't remember much of it. All I remember from the start is pain and the bruises coating my arms from my mother, blaming me for my father leaving.

Coming to Rapture didn't help the beatings, but it ceased them for a few months as we settled in. We were crammed in a bathysphere with four other people, artists, scientists, and people looking to be captains of industry. Out of them, I think I saw 3 of them down in the Drop looking like they were about to croak from starvation.

For only a few short months did I live in a small apartment with my mother until one day she just never came back and the name Dusky Donovan ended up whispered in the Pink Pearl, just another whore in the employ of Daniel Wales. No one even remembered little Jamie Donovan or was sure if Jamie ever existed, which I did.

Now, I couldn't pick her out of a crowd if my life depended on it. My mother had abandoned me and left me to wander around Rapture, looking for 'mommy' until I became another ghost. One of the lost people of Rapture, the ones that society forgot about in its rise to glory. I was quick to discover that I should trust no one or I'd be another body floating in the wharf. Another victim to the splicers that had started to make their appearance at this time.

It's where my life truly began and probably will end. Not a very good life mind you, but a life nonetheless. My 19-year-old life consisted of keeping out of reach of anyone who decided I would be a good grab for a quick ravage in a darkened back room or disappear only to end up another body floating outside the glass structure of Rapture for passersby to see. I stayed on top of the King Pawn sign to watch the chaos pass below me; only a few months ago I watched as Sofia Lamb and Andrew Ryan duked it out verbally in front of the people of Pauper's Drop about religious freedom and reality - Utilitarian beliefs vs. the Free Market beliefs.

Wandering to another trashcan, I could hear the music and Grace’s beautiful voice flowing out of the Limbo Room. It was a small but well-kept jazz bar which was surprising with the chaos of this place. Really it was the only place anyone could afford to go to down here. Grace would sneak me into the back and give me shelter in her dressing room while she returned home for the morning. She was a kind woman with a heart of gold, a good soul and a beautiful voice that echoed through the PA system with her songs – a rarity down here. She even found the love of a man down here; a man who didn't join the race to see who could become less of a man and more of a monster. In fact, he had never touched the stuff so much that it would affect him. The occasional brain boost or sports boost, but not enough to cause him to turn into of those Splicers. James was okay in my book.

My stomach grumbled achingly reminding me of my hunger that still plagued my body. It would be for a while until I could get a morsel of food to calm it down long enough to find my next meal, maybe. Trashcan potato chips would not cut it.

Stuffing my hands in the pockets of my baggy trousers (several sizes too big), I wandered away from the trashcan to find a place to sleep since it wouldn't be until the early morning when the Limbo would close. The perks of being alone meant having a lot of time to myself – mainly to learn the ventilation shafts and know where all the dead ends and cubbies are to keep away from any roaming vent dwellers.

The King Pawn sign was my usual place to sit and also had a readily accessible vent to crawl through for quick escapes. I crawled through until I ended up at a dead end with a vent that overlooked the stairs of the Artemis Suites. Already I could hear one of the tenants arguing very loudly about something or another followed by something breaking. A European couple – Swedish if I guess right – wandered up the staircase to the third floor, talking about inviting someone in another apartment over for tea or some such.

My switchblade tight in my grip, I fell into a light sleep in the cramped space.

* * *

“Don’t ‘Grace’ me, Jamie,” Grace scolded, her finger pointed right at my nose. I held my hands up in a slight defense. “Darling girl, you’re too thin.” She reached her hand up and traced my jutting-out collarbone. I couldn't help but notice how her dark skin contrasted against my pale skin. I remember as a child I used to be tan, but that disappeared when my mother and I came to Rapture. “So I insist ya take a few dollars and go get somethin’ ta eat.”

“Grace, I can’t take any of your money. What about rent?”

I jumped when a slim arm wrapped around my shoulders. James’ wide grin settled me down just as quickly as the fright came. “Jamie, Grace and I are worried about you. You insist on not moving in with us, so this is the least we can do. Besides, we have a little extra from the tips Gracie made last night from her _beauuutiful_ singing voice!” He released his grip from around my shoulders and swept Grace up in his arms, making her giggle and swat at him to ‘cut it out!’. “Settle our fears and do it for us?”

I smiled. “You say this every time you guys do something for me. ‘Jamie, take this and buy a sweater. You’ll freeze. Settle our fears and do it for us? Jamie, at least sleep on the floor of my dressing room. You might be attacked at night. Settle our fears and do it for us?’ I swear you’re like mother hens. I’m 19. A few more years I’ll be considered an old maid.”

Grace chuckled and placed her hands on my shoulders. “You’re like a daughter to us. Of course, we’re gonna worry about you, child.” She dug into her pocket and pulled out the aforementioned money, waving it in front of my face.

I didn't argue further and reluctantly took the small wad of cash, tips from last night’s festivities. I didn't exactly know where to spend it other than the Fighting McDonagh’s since it was the only place that served semi-decent food.

The bar was packed with workers getting off shift. Loud and rowdy as they watched Ryan's Raiders play, I weaved through the crowd and placed my order to the bartender behind the counter - Thomas if I remembered correctly. I sat down at a booth in the far back and rested my chin on my intertwined fingers. Mariska Lutz popped out a few minutes later with a plate in hand. Weaving through the crowd like they weren't there (plenty of practice), she placed the plate in front of me and smiled. "Enjoy!" She exclaimed over the loud noise and disappeared into the crowd again.

­

Digging in, I failed to notice someone sit down in the booth across from me. Glancing up, it took everything I had not to choke on the food: Augustus Sinclair.

Augustus Sinclair wasn't a conman, per-se, but a cunning businessman with an abnormally high intellect to know that you have to pick a brand name from the writing on the walls. He owned several of the businesses here and knew exactly how to squeeze someone with a fancy hat until he fell in the mud for every dollar he owned. He was a bit on the heavy side with a muffin top that was sort of stuffed into his black dress pants, a white shirt, tucked in, clean and proper. He didn't wear a belt, but opted for overall straps, adding to his official working man look. He had his glasses hung around his neck and a necktie, red and yellow striped. His hair was charcoal black, smoothed back to make him appear suave and sophisticated and his bright emerald eyes entranced the soul and warped the mind into handing over your wallet.

Andrew Ryan always rambled on about the 'Great Chain', where there was no God in the sky, only a chain that we each had a hand on. Any man who said differently either has his hand in your pocket or a gun to your temple. Sinclair had people shelling out the pull that Great Chain for him.

I swallowed and asked, "What?"

Sinclair's lips curved into the famous grin that could charm a shark and held out his hand for a handshake, "The name's-"

"I know who you are. Let me rephrase my question: What do you want?"

Sinclair's hand retreated to adjust his tie - skillfully and rehearsed, "I'll be frank with you since I can see that you're someone who doesn't beat 'round the bush: I've been watchin' you. I've seen you around the Drop, sittin' up on that thrift shop's sign. Also, have seen you crawl out of the vents, it’s safe to assume you know the ventilation system." He leaned back on the cushioned seats.

"Sure."

The vents were my home for the most part. It was how I got around and avoided the splicers. Most that would try and follow me would get lost in them very easily and end up another body stuck in the shaft, broken by a deadfall, lacerated by fan blades or sucked into the vats in the Fisheries. I had no idea where this man was going, but all I could hear was that money was involved, and so was the risk of being killed.

"I'm willin' to pay good money for any information you can get. Anything downright juicy."

"You don't even know me."

"But I would like to. What's your name?" I chose the silent treatment. "Alright don't tell me. But then I'll have to make up a name for you. Calling you 'Girl' or 'ma'am' just doesn't suit my fancy. Too informal." I rolled my eyes and continued to eat my meal. I had to hear this. "All right, your name will be Hawkeye."

"Hawkeye?"

"Yes, ma'am. You stand on the highest perch you can get to an' watch the people around here like a hawk. I know an opportunity when I see it. I like to look a person in the eye when I tell them: You an' me kid, we're going places."

"What is that? You're catchphrase?" I questioned, wiping my mouth of ketchup with a napkin. I pushed the empty plate aside and leaned back in my seat.

He chuckled and answered, "Might as well be, Hawkeye."

I listened to the word bounce around inside my skull. It wasn't that bad; I liked it, not that I would admit it to the man. I was not about to give this guy the time of day. As I had said, I've dealt with his kind before: businessmen looking for information at first until they realize your worth and try to sell you to their allies as a bargaining chip. I would disappear before the debate could even finish, and they'd never find me.

"Good day, Mr. Sinclair," I said standing up to leave.

Sinclair only sat there with a smug smile on his face. He made no motion to grab for me, nor did he look like he was going to say anything to stop me. The man was way too smart for his own good. I knew he would be back and sick enough I was curious as to what he would say next time.

Stuffing my hands in my pocket, the switchblade brushing against my knuckles. "Well, this is annoying..." I muttered to myself.

I pushed open the door leading into Limbo Room silently weaving through the numerous tables and chairs that had yet to be cleaned off by the night cleaners. I had wasted enough of my time in the company of Sinclair; now I needed my sleep. I jumped up on the stage and went into the back room where Grace's dressing room was.

I was surprised to find a pillow and a blanket inside folded neatly on the bench in front of Grace's vanity. I caught sight of my reflection which was a laugh if I could say so. My reflection stared back at me, tired, sad and almost had dead look to it. It was angular, had its exotic features, but other than that I was nothing spectacular to look at. I touched my greasy brown hair that was pulled into a low ponytail and opted to ask Grace for a bath. The woman was so kind that she was the only person I could feel comfortable asking without having a shiv in my belly before I could get the question out. I licked my thumb and rubbed off a spot of dirt from crawling in the vents, knowing that it did little for the rest of my face.

I shook my head and threw the pillow on the floor and laid down, wrapping the blanket around me, cocooning myself in the fabric.

_You and me, kid, we're going places..._

That Sinclair was already becoming a thorn in my side – invading my head like this.


	2. Chapter 2

Hands in my pockets, I wandered the walkways of Siren Alley, fighting off a headache forming from the heavy smell of cheap perfume emanating from the Pink Pearl. People ignored me mostly, maybe giving me the occasional non-committal glance. Perhaps they had believed I was just another hooker's brat, which wouldn't have been far from the truth. I found a decent ledge up high and relatively out of reach. I grabbed a notch on the wall to haul myself up.

The ledge overlooked an illegal moonshine still which I could smell clear as day, but I’d rather smell bathtub moonshine than the flowery perfume from the Betties at the Pearl. Less of a headache.

I watched large crates get wheeled under me and through the doors of the Mermaid Lounge where the owner stood with a grin on his face and his wallet in his hand, ready to pay for whatever was in the crates.

Judging from the size, I would have guessed that they were those newly automated turrets that people were starting to buy for a security system. It would have made sense for Romans – the owner – to purchase them since the top floor of the Mermaid Lounge had several slot machines, a few tables for playing cards and a bar. If things got rowdy, the turrets would clear the problem up right quick.

My head shot to the Pearl where I _swore_ I saw the visage of my mother, but whoever they were disappeared into the Pearl and out of sight. I sighed and continued to watch Romans converse with the delivery crew about payment for the turrets. Why I was still getting worked up over my mother was beyond me. She abandoned me, left me to starve, so why should I care whether I saw her or not?

I especially didn't have any good memories of her. Barely any memories of my father, but I vaguely remember a spicy cologne and laughter that mimicked a grandfather clock. That was about it. Father left for WWII, and I had never seen him again. Died during the Blitz, I overheard grandmother and grandfather say to my mother who feigned sadness, but once my grandparents’ backs were turned, she didn't give two shits if the man was dead.

I hated her, even as a child. I avoided her throughout the day, spending time with my grandmother and grandfather instead of that miserable hag.

Drawing my knees up, I hugged them to my chest. Thinking of my mother only made me realize I was alone. Grace and James were the only kindness left in my life. I gripped the cloth of my trousers tight – I would defend them with my life.

"So have you thought my offer over, Hawkeye?"

I almost groaned at the familiar southern drawl.

I flicked my gaze over to Sinclair who stood below me with one of his cigarettes already balanced between his fingers and leaned on the railing overlooking the Mermaid Lounge. An expensive brand from what I could tell; Oxford Clubs. None of those seashell and fish eggs cigars and cigarettes they started selling cheap over at Robertson's Tobaccoria. The smoke smelled almost sweet though, hardly choking that I've come to expect. Of course, he wasn't blowing it harshly in my face like some of the Betties at the Pink Pearl would do if they ever saw me around.

I hadn't seen him in nearly three days. Of course, during that time I had made myself scarce from the sight of Rapture’s citizens, Sinclair included.

"No."

"No, huh? Why is that?" I shot him a cold look. Did I really have to explain myself to him? To Augustus Sinclair? I chose to say nothing. "An' I get the silent treatment again. Are you sure you don't want to work for me? Even if it meant gettin' you off the street?"

"I'm sure."

"Not even if I gave you a handsome starting fee? An' a lodgin' out of Pauper's Drop." He had a stack of dollars in his hand, holding it up for me to take if I were to agree. Sure, I was down on my luck and with barely a penny to my name, but it's not like I couldn't find money anywhere else... Pickpocketing and whatnot... But that... would hold me over and maybe get me a decent meal at the Fishbowl Diner... Maybe pay for rent for Grace and James.

With Grace and James in mind, I answered, "I'll think about it." I slipped off the ledge and dropped down to the first floor, landing in a crouch. I glanced back up at Sinclair who hadn't budged, only watched my movement with a small smile. A smile that said he was going to win me over to his employ.

I didn't understand why he was so persistent to place me in the line of fire just for a bit of information. Sure the information I could get could make or break a company if it had reached the right or wrong hands. And Sinclair's hands were the ones that had a finger in everyone's pie. And yet, they were surprisingly clean hands despite where they had been. He was smart, that was for sure, even rivaling that of Ryan without the growing paranoia of everyone around him. And I was contemplating whether or not to make a deal with the Devil.

No, Sinclair wasn't the Devil. Maybe just a demon with a clean shave, but the Devil? No. If anyone was the Devil down here, it was Andrew Ryan. From the way the poor are treated, the evidence was clear.

"Such a sweet li'l fish! Wonder if she's got any ADAM..." My entire body stiffened at the voice.

There was the familiar clang of metal on metal in a rapid motion, signifying one of those splicers that crawled along the walls and ceilings. They were the newest type of splicer to make an appearance here in the underbelly of Rapture. The residents and the splicers themselves started to call these the 'Spider Splicers' or 'Ceiling Crawlers' due to their ability to crawl along the ceilings almost effortlessly, something no human could do.

I slowly and stiffly looked up at the creature grinning down at me.

He had a bald, misshapen head, a bulging eye, long bony limbs, claw-like fingers, and four toes on each foot. His teeth were small and pointy and spaced far apart in his gums. His clothes were tattered and worn-down, especially at the ends of the sleeves and shorts, likely due to the act of crawling across many surfaces. In each hand, he held a meat hook.

I still couldn't move, even when he let out a maniacal scream and dropped from the ceiling. He… _it_ circled me, much like a vulture, the hooks clanking against the cold floor as it crawled. "Sweet girly a ‘fraidy cat? A little kitten?" The moment it weaved behind me, my fight or flight instinct kicked in, and my legs finally kicked off into a sprint.

I grabbed a railing of a nearby staircase and swung myself up getting a mild head start from my pursuer. "Run, run, run, little girlie as fast as you can!" The thing taunted, crawling quickly along the ceiling after me. People moved out of the way of me or else I would have just run them over despite how much it would slow me down before they dove out of the way of the splicer so it wouldn't cut them down.

I sprinted over the first bridge I came across only to realize it came to a dead end. I turned toward the door that led into an apartment and slammed into it, banging my fists against the metal to try and get it open, but no avail. Whoever lived here locked the door. "Fuck..." I cursed backing up until my lower back hit the railing. I jumped when the splicer thumped on the wood floor of the balcony, his hooks clinking away, warning me of the impending attack.

I ducked out of the way of a wild swing, the meat hook brushing past my ponytail and used that moment of pause to grab the railing and leap over to the other side, so I was hanging over the balcony. With a push of my legs, I leaped over to the bridge and had crossed to get where I was. Jumping up and over the railing to land safely on the bridge again, I took off running again, the splicer hot on my heels. I shoved a man out of the way, but into the wall of the building thankfully. Down another set of stairs, I went, sprinting toward the Metro Station in hopes that someone would help me since no one here would.

I let out a scream when the hook sliced across my back. I tripped over my own feet and slammed hard against the ground, my head bouncing off the concrete. "Sweet, tasty ADAM..." The splicer muttered. He hovered over me; his hook raised to deliver the killing blow.

Without thinking, I reached up and grabbed the wrist about to come down to kill me and twisted. I heard a sickening snap of the joint and the crawler scrambled back, screaming about his now broken wrist. I scrambled to my feet once again, almost tripping a second time. "GET BACK HERE!" The splicer screamed giving chase as best as he could with a broken wrist.

The Metro station was now out of the question since this thing was hell-bent on killing me now. Had to get up high and get into an air vent or else I wouldn't live to see another day. My hand pressed as best as it could to the slice across my back and spine, but there was little one hand could do.

Up another set of stairs I went until I had finally reached the 3rd floor. There! A vent! Finally! With a push of my legs, my hands caught the edge of the vent. It took only a moment to haul myself up and begin crawling through the familiar paths of the air vents that traveled all throughout Rapture. It was a loud bang that alerted me to the crawler still giving chase. His hooks scraped at the metal as he crawled after me, faster than I could by far.

A weapon... I needed a weapon and fast! But something to be used as a weapon in an air vent? Yeah, that's something that pops up every day. I glanced over my shoulder at the creature, hissing and snarling in his fury and lust to kill me. It was no longer about ADAM; it was about getting his pride smashed by a girl who was supposed to be an easy kill and yet she had led him on a merry chase through Little Eden Plaza.

My hand suddenly brushed something that wasn't normal in the vents. A metal pipe. My fingers wrapped around the pipe and swung for the splicer who was now nearly on top of me. The pipe smashed in his skull, and he let out a wail of agony, the blood flowing from the wound. Another swing to the other side and the splicer fell limp to the floor of the vent.

I let out a shaky breath and dropped the bloodstained pipe.

Now panting, I looked around for any more signs that some other splicer heard this one and would come to investigate, but I heard nothing out of the ordinary. I continued crawling towards Pauper's Drop with a trail of blood coming from my back, and my breath labored to try and control the fresh pain.

Curse Rapture and the splicers, curse whoever had the gall to think “Let’s give people superpowers, but leave horrible side effects, so anyone with these superpowers goes batshit insane!”

I dropped from the vent I used to leave Pauper's Drop, landing in the middle of the hallway of the Hamilton. I winced as my back gave a painful throb telling me to get this patched up and patched up quick. I stumbled my way to the stairs, ignoring the looks of the few people I passed, no doubt receiving the stares from the blood dripping down my back. There was only one place I could go: Suchong’s Free Clinic. Suchong normally gave me the creeps without even being in his presence.

Staggering into the clinic startled several patients and intern nurses. Suchong looked up from his clipboard and said, “Let’s not have the girl bleed out.”

A nurse produced a wheelchair and coaxed me into it.

I laid on my stomach on the examination table, feeling more exposed than I particularly liked to be in the presence of Dr. Yi Suchong. “Name?” He asked, writing down information on his clipboard.

“None of your concern.”

“No name, no treatment.” His gaze was sharp and clearly annoyed with me.

I barely growled out, “Jamie Donovan.”

“Age.”

I sighed and reluctantly answered, “19.”

“Blood type?”

“Why do you need to know?”

“In case of the need for a blood transfusion,” He replied sharply.

“I don’t know. Any other questions?”

He ignored me and hummed in approval. He pulled a sterile needle out of its packaging and a tube to collect a sample of blood for testing. I barely winced when the needle pierced my skin – I gave credit to a high pain tolerance. With the blood sample collected, he took the notes off the clipboard and sealed both items in a beige envelope. He sent the information through the pneumo somewhere and returned to me to stitch up my back. It was quiet the whole time, no more questions which I was thankful for, but it felt like he was looking at me like some prize; a rare specimen to be poked and prodded like a child poking a frog in science class. It unnerved me.

I was out before anyone could bid me goodbye pressing a cotton swab to the pinprick mark in the crook of my arm.

My back stung painfully as I walked and I knew there'd be no climbing around for me for the few days or so, meaning I needed safety and there was no way I’d put that pressure on Grace and James. Besides, I wasn't going to go near Grace with this injury: She’d never let me leave ever again if she knew I was in some sort of danger.

Unfortunately, the only person offering safety was the man I'd rather not deal with. I winced as my back gave another painful throb. Suchong didn't even give me painkillers. Of course, I didn't stick around for him to prescribe me any, so I more or less screwed myself out of that.

I reached around and lightly prodded the stitches, noting the tear in my sweater and shirt that revealed a good majority of my back. I didn't think I could get enough string to sew them shut, nor would I ask Grace for the same reason as the injury on my back. She’d see it and freak.

I had little choice but to straighten my back and make my way to the Sinclair Deluxe to see Augustus Sinclair. The bastard had won now that I was backed into a corner.

Sinclair's smile as I approached the desk was one that sent chills up my spine and not the good kind either. It was like he knew that I'd come to his desk eventually with the right push. Arrogant bastard.

He folded his hands neatly together and placed his elbows on the desk he was sitting at. "So, finally acceptin' my offer?" He questioned the smile never disappearing.

"I'll listen, but that doesn't mean I'm accepting. There are a few things I need to hear first."

"Of course." He made a gesture towards the open glass doors that lead to the hotel.

I walked through and waited for him to open the doors to the office. He held the door open like a gentleman and directed me to the back room where two chairs were already waiting. The cheeky bastard had already planned this out like he knew that I'd come to see him in due time. The room was mostly used for storage from what I could see, but it was the most privacy we were going to get in a place like this.

"You've got blood on your shirt an' a hole," He pointed out, his eyes never leaving the injury.

"Had a run-in with a splicer. What of it?"

He clapped his hands, and the hotel's front desk attendant quickly made her appearance. He handed her a few dollars and said, "Go purchase a new shirt and jacket for the young lady, if you would be so kind. An’ you can keep the change, darlin'." She nodded and rushed to retrieve Sinclair's request. Once she was out of view, Sinclair took his seat and crossed his legs. "Now, let's talk business. What do I need to do to get your patronage, miss?"

I mulled it over for a moment before I answered plainly, "Safety."

"Safety?"

"Yes. I don't want to have to go to sleep at night and worry I might not wake up in the morning or wake up someplace I don't recognize. Someplace I can call home. I want an apartment in the Artemis Suites." It was a simple request. Artemis Suites wasn't the most luxurious place in Rapture, mostly for the working class citizens of Rapture, but it wasn't falling apart at the seams. Sure, it had its fair share of trouble, but locked doors and security cameras and turrets located at key points throughout the building made it an ideal place to set up shop. And it felt like the best place to call home for someone like me.

Sinclair blinked in shock for just a second. Then it cleared up back to the clean-cut businessman with questionable business ethics. "Why not somethin' in Olympus Heights?” He suggested. “Say the Mercury Suites?"

I knew his ploy - keep me close and on a leash. "Getting an apartment in Olympus Heights would just get me lynched if I ever showed my face in Pauper's Drop after I even signed the lease. And to be honest, it keeps what I'd lose if you don't like what I get to a minimum. I'm not unintelligent, Mr. Sinclair."

 _That_ made him give a look that clearly said he was impressed. Sinclair nodded, "A fair point. An' in return, I tell you who I need information on an' you'd be able to retrieve it? Everythin' downright scandalous with proof?"

I nodded. "If it’s any consolation, you’re the only person who really noticed me."

"Me? I guess I can take that as it is. Would I get to learn your name today?"

"No." I thought for a moment before looking Sinclair in the eye. "But there is one more thing..."

"And what would that be?"

"I will in no way collect information that could harm Grace Holloway or her husband, James." Sinclair stood up. He held out his hand, and I clasped my own with his, giving it a firm shake. Deal concluded. Now just the paperwork.

We were interrupted by the woman who worked the front desk reappearing with a bag in her hand. Sinclair thanked her and took the bag from her. With a dismissing hand, she returned to the front desk to continue listening to the Rapture Radio that croaked from the rusty radio she owned. Sinclair handed me the bag and waited until I pulled out the articles of clothing. I was thankful that it was just a simple navy blue shirt that could be tied in the back to allow for a more formed figure and a grey sweatshirt that could zip up in the front. "Thank you," I said replacing the shirt in the bag and setting it down on the floor by my feet.

Before long, I was in the new shirt, my old one disposed of and I was back in Pauper's Drop. A 'Trial-Run' as Sinclair had called it to see how well I could collect the information he was looking for before moving me up to bigger marks. Although, when he meant 'trial-run' I didn't think he would send me up against the Head of Security of Andrew Ryan's Private Forces. Sullivan was well known in the Drop. Who am I kidding? He’s well known throughout Rapture.

He was a person with a big red and white bulls-eye painted on his back to the people of Pauper's Drop. If the man didn't have a big fucking army behind him, I'm pretty sure the people down here would have stuck a knife in his belly a long time ago. Even if someone had the guts to stab him the back and make off like a bandit, his army would march through the Drop – killing anyone in sight just to be sure they got the killer.

The man was unpleasant, almost viper-like with a receding hairline and a thin pencil mustache to add to his look. He had thick wrinkles around his eyes, indicating his age, but also his wisdom and cunning. Now, where his wisdom was being used was another question altogether. Personally, I couldn't stand the man, but I could respect him for his line of work and dealing with Ryan's ever-growing paranoia.

Currently, Sullivan was working on cracking down a thief who had stolen something or another from some artist type in Fort Frolic and made his escape to Pauper's Drop. Not a smart move, if I'd say so myself since no one down here would buy anything from the rich people that towered above them. If you wanted to sell anything stolen, you’d have to go through the back alleys of Siren Alley and hope you find a decent broker that won’t just stab you and take it for himself. That'd just get them locked up. So it was no surprise that the thief was quickly cornered in Pauper's Drop.

I walked calmly, keeping a safe and inconspicuous distance from Sullivan – within earshot, but out of sight. He was walking with a few of his 'boys' making it seem that they were just going to get a bite from the Fishbowl Diner. From a few more hours of following him, I finally collected enough to make Sinclair smile since it sure made me smile with knowing. Sullivan wasn't just a cop; he was a cop that played dirty, threatening the lives of the very people I grew up around to find out what he wanted; flashing his badge wherever he went like a kid with a loaded gun. He also dropped Andrew Ryan's name a lot more than one really should, but if Fontaine was starting to be considered the Boogeyman and a name to be feared, then Andrew Ryan was the bloody Devil himself.

It was almost hilarious at how often Sullivan also questioned Andrew Ryan's orders. The people here had their own minds, and Andrew's idea of a free market was great in theory, but with a man who built a city under the sea (a feat seen as impossible) with his name plastered on almost everything, it was without a doubt that a god-complex would form which from Sullivan's angry mutterings, it was already starting to rear its ugly head like a bull.

Sinclair almost grinned in delight when I dropped from the vent into his office space of his apartment in Olympus Heights. After the initial heart-attack from hearing someone crawl through the vents since I made no attempt to be quiet. The mood in his apartment though was surprisingly welcoming, but a little overwhelming with the number of expensive goods he had brought with from the surface, most of the items like an oak finish record player. Nothing that gave a clear notion of what the surface was like since Ryan was a daft paranoid bastard with power. A dangerous chemistry mix that would either balance itself out or nuke the place.

I would make sure that by the time Sinclair and I were done, he would be the most well-informed man in Rapture and instead of having just a finger in everyone's pie, Sinclair would be eating a slice of each with a feline grin while his competition wallowed in starvation.

“Good job, Miss Hawkeye. To congratulate you, I went ahead and made all the arrangements for your bonus.” He held up a set of keys with a number tag attached to them: 26.

“What’s this now?” I asked taking the keys from him.

Sinclair only smiled and answered, “Keeping up my end of the bargain. I even went so far as to _not_ make a copy for myself.” I almost cracked a smile. Almost.

Within the few weeks that followed, I settled in nicely into my new apartment and my new line of work. Sinclair even brought it upon himself to purchase some affordable furniture for me, nothing too fancy, just enough for me to have a few luxuries.

A four post bed was placed in the bedroom along with a vanity similar to the one Grace possessed and a few things that a woman would have in her vanity. The blankets placed on my bed were different shades of purple along with the pillow covers. There was a dresser in front of the wall across from the door that, much to my surprise, were full of clothes both nice looking and working clothes. The closet held a few dresses which made me wonder why in Sinclair's right mind compelled him to get these since I'd never wear them.

My kitchen had a few things such as a stove, a fridge, and a new microwave. And, for a few minutes, I couldn't figure out how the coffee maker worked. It wasn't like I drank coffee to begin with, but I'm sure I'd be working long nights and coffee was about to become my best friend. There were even a few Meal-Time frozen dinners already in the freezer part of my fridge. Sinclair thought ahead. The floor was tiled black and white; the cupboards were white as were most of the appliances. A small table sat in the corner, maybe big enough to fit three people if they squeezed. It had a wooden surface, but I wasn't surprised to see that the legs were made from coral.

My sitting room held two couches with a small end table at each end along with a low table in the middle of both in front of the fireplace. A TV rested on the other wall, opposite of the fireplace. Not too far to the right of the TV sat a desk with a few sheets of stationary and a tin of pens already sat waiting. A small, but comfortable chair slid under the desk with relative ease.

I almost fainted when I stepped into the shower for the first time, the hot warm pouring over my body washing off all the stress and grime from Pauper's Drop. It was very rare that I got a decent shower aside from using a sink in a public bathroom and stolen soap. When I felt the need, I'd ask Grace to use her shower, but that wasn't often; I didn't want to feel like I was taking advantage of her hospitality for a duct-rat like me. So having my own shower now was absolutely heaven.

All in all, a perfect place the likes of me. I was even thankful to the man, who had kept his end of the bargain while I kept up mine. Sinclair just smiled and said, "I take care of my 'assets'."

It was a subtle agreement between us that I was not to be referred as his 'employee', but an asset. An asset still had the freedom to go about as they please, while an employee is chained to their employer. Sinclair was again amused by my caution to our business deal. I didn't live eight years in the Drop just to give up everything I've ever learned because a man flashes a smile and a wad of cash.

If my no-good mother of mine could see me now, maybe she wouldn't have abandoned me.

And the year came to an end. Hello, 1954.


	3. Chapter 3

“I’m _not_ going to the doctor!” I exclaimed, sitting in one of Sinclair’s armchairs with a huff.

Sinclair shot me an annoyed look. Good be annoyed! “Hawkeye, you’ve got to get those stitches out an’ the wound checked up on.” He tapped his cigarette on the ashtray and took another drag to calm the nerves that I was getting on.

I looked at anything but his eyes. “I already took the stitches out a week ago. They itched.”

“You did what?!” He demanded. He sighed heavily and pinched the bridge of his nose to quell the headache I was causing him. I almost smirked at his distraught. “Look, you got to get that wound checked out. You were clawed in the back by a rusted hook. You could have tetanus or somethin’!”

“It’s fine!”

Sinclair stood up and rounded the desk, before kneeling next to my seat. “What if I offer to cover the bill? Just humor me.”

I rolled my eyes and reluctantly nodded. “Fine, I’ll go to the blasted doctor. Happy?”

Sinclair smiled and stood. “Very.”

* * *

 

Sitting in Dr. Steinman’s exam room was not what I had in mind when seeing the doctor. Dr. Steinman was a cosmetic surgeon and dentist. What business did he have seeing to me? Sinclair probably… "It appears that your injury has fully healed," Dr. Steinman muttered absentmindedly, his fingers lightly prodding the thin scar across my back. I glanced back when I heard him take off his latex gloves, disposing them in a nearby waste bin. “Your blood work came back with no signs of tetanus. With a little bit of ADAM, I can be sure the scar is no longer visible,” He offered which I declined quickly.

I sat up and a nurse came over and handed over my shirt with a small smile. I still didn't understand why Sinclair made me come here since the man was no doctor to diagnose stitches in someone's back, but he was adamant that I had the wound checked out in case of any 'serious concerns'. I sure as hell didn’t tell him I went and saw Suchong for it. Like this was my first time getting stitches, but if it shut the man up, I obliged as long as he was picking up the bill and paid for discretion and for this not to go on file.

As I slipped it on, I heard Dr. Steinman ask, "Has the bridge of your nose always been that... wide?"

The question threw me off for a moment. My nose? My nose was fine as far as I could tell. It was normal in fact, so I had no idea what he was talking about. It didn't take a genius to quickly find out what he was implying. I've seen women flock to him like he was their mother goose, wanting him to cut their faces with that scalpel of his and make them pretty. And it's escalated since the discovery of ADAM that left nothing out of range of the cosmetic surgeon. I was _not_ going to succumb to Steinman like the rest of the splicers here.

"Y-Yeah?" I was cautious, even more-so than I was when Sinclair gave me the business deal not 3 weeks ago.

I never trusted doctors, much less doctors that held a scalpel more intimately than a lover like Dr. Steinman did. Even now he had a scalpel in his hand, his finger tracing the smooth metal of the blade which made me itch in a slight panic of what he was going to do with that blade.

Dr. Steinman shook his head like he had just seen the worst painting someone had ever done. "With my help, your nose could be perfect. With ADAM, what excuse do we not have to look our best, to look _beautiful_?" He whipped out his business card and held it out to me. He even had the phrase quoted on the card.

I took it and stuffed it in the back pocket of my trousers. "I'll consider it," I lied, just wanting to be out of that room.

Dr. Steinman smiled flashing his perfect teeth and gestured towards the door. "Just give me a few minutes and I’ll have a bill written up for you."

I nodded once and anxiously waited for him to fill out the script. He finally handed me the paper and I dashed out without making it look like I was running. The nurse gave me another smile and bid me a good rest of my day.

Rest of my day? I don't think I'll be able to sleep tonight. I'll have to make sure to voice to Sinclair that visits to Dr. Steinman were not going to happen again for a very long time.

The attendant at the front desk gave me a look as I rushed by. I could tell she was thinking I was nothing but a dirty duct-rat from the way my clothes looked, far from a proper lady who was depending off another man's money to get by. The day I became something of a proper lady was the day that Ryan handed the keys to Rapture over to Fontaine with a grin.

I gave a half-assed wave and left the section of the clinic. The foyer of the downstairs area was already starting to fill up with nurses and people wanting to see Dr. Steinman for whatever face-life they needed which meant it was time for me to get out of there before someone accused me of stealing something. A few people I recognized from the Pearl which didn't surprise me any. The only thing that surprised me was the fact that they could afford the surgery.

I pulled the business card Steinman gave me out of my pocket and gazed it over. The card looked aesthetically pleasing, but Steinman’s name in cursive font and his telephone extension made me want to choke. The phrase “With ADAM what excuse do we have not to be beautiful!” caused the card to be crumpled up and tossed into a nearby garbage bin.

"Hawkeye!" I jumped when I heard the nickname only Sinclair called me. I turned around and spotted the mentioned man walking confidently up to me, placing his hand on my shoulder in a friendly gesture. "How did the appointment go?"

"He says it healed fully and should be fine." It was short and easy to remember so Sinclair wouldn't get the idea that I needed another check-up.

Sinclair beamed and exclaimed, "Well isn't that dandy! We're back in business."

Not that we ever fell out of business. I did my work despite the fact my back burned when the day was done with, but it mattered none to me. Sinclair would have his money's worth of information for upcoming business deals or whatever he does and I had my next paycheck by the end of the week. I would then get one of McDonagh's famous burgers at the end of each day. It still tasted like fish, but it was better than the other restaurants around Neptune's Bounty and Pauper's Drop. And I refused to eat anywhere that was high end, knowing full well that I would never blend in except with a ton of concealer to try and cover my scars.

At least until the scars from ADAM started getting harder and harder to cover up. Then I could blend right in.

McDonagh was nice enough, I suppose. Treat him with respect, and he'd respect you back; Cause trouble, and he'd throw you out on your ass. He didn't sneer at me as anyone else would, so that was a bonus in my book. And he made a mean burger.

“I also spoke with Elliot Nelson. Good call on him. My needles are being made as we speak for cheap!” Sinclair announced, rather pleased with the whole scheme.

I hummed to show a mild approval, mostly to appease him. I dug in my pocket and pulled out the piece of paper with the bill written on it and handed it to Sinclair since he had said he was going to cover it; it was one of the ways he had even gotten me there.

After he paid the woman at the financial desk of the Medical Pavilion, we boarded a bathysphere chose Neptune's Bounty as the destination. The ride was silent, except for the occasional tapping when Sinclair's fingers would drum against his leg. "I have a new job for you," He said out of the blue. "And you must swear to not mention one word about this." I gave him my full undivided attention. "Ol' Andy Ryan has been breathin' down my neck to take care of Sofia Lamb an' wants evidence enough to arrest her. I need you to find someone to infiltrate her little religion an' get me the evidence Andy needs."

The job was a strange one all right. I knew my area of expertise was information but recruitment for a long-term investigation to take down a psychologist? Dr. Sofia Lamb was a clinical psychiatrist hired by Andrew Ryan himself to quell the numbers in Pauper's Drop. Why would he want to take her down if he hired her? She had come down here and started to spread her altruistic ideals hoping to enlighten the citizens through "ethical psychiatry and to create a true utopia." Her words. She offered free therapy sessions for the poor citizens in Pauper's Drop, lost poker games intentionally to spread wealth to those who needed it and created the artistic commune at her personal property in Dionysus Park. Lamb's altruism ideals did clash greatly with Andrew Ryan's, but to hire a mole to take her down? That just seemed diabolical. Maybe he was just a sore loser from the political debates he had lost to Sofia Lamb.

"So you want me to recruit someone? How?"

"Follow your instinct. You live by your instinct. You got me Nelson an’ he worked out better than I expected. Who do you think would best fit in with Lamb's little group?"

“But I just looked for someone who would be desperate enough for money and a lot of spare time. _And_ not in Fontaine’s pocket or Ryan’s. That was easy. You’re asking me to find someone to blend in with Lamb’s enclave and be able to act in a way that won’t be detected by a _psychologist_. On top of that, they need to have some semblance of skill in order to get in quick like an artist or something. Most artists are in Fort Frolic with a large stick up their arse and anyone else is too stupid to even lie to a child.”

“I hear a lot of speculation, but if I know you, you’ll get a result quickly.” Smug git.

During my criteria listing, I had already gathered a small list of names in my mind. I nodded and said, “Yeah, I can get you someone. Give me a few hours.”

“Take all the time you need. Lamb isn't goin’ anywhere.”

I left Sinclair’s company once we docked at his private port in the Sinclair Tower. Passing through Skid Row I noticed a bookstore boarded up, when just the other day it was filled to the brim with people wanting to buy Sofia Lamb’s book _Unity and Metamorphosis._ His wife and child were left alone with nothing.

A young boy bumped into me, and I quickly grabbed his arm and jerked him back around to my front. I held out my hand, and he dejectedly handed back the wallet he pickpocketed from me. “Don’t look so beaten. If it was anyone else but me, you would have made off with their wallet.”

“Anyone but you, miss?”

“I’ve been pickpocketing before you could walk, kid. How old are you?”

“8, ma’am.”

I hummed in disapproval. I shooed the kid off, and he ran off to either find another mark or to go home. I felt terrible for him since it was like looking in a mirror: the failed attempts, getting caught by the completely wrong person and being beaten within an inch of my life all for a few dollars to, maybe, buy myself some food. I wondered vaguely if his parents were still around.

I shook my head to clear it of the soft spot growing for the kid.

The Fighting McDonagh's Tavern was loud as always from the fishermen coming in to enjoy a pint from the grumpy bartender Thomas. Thomas mostly was a spare when Bill himself couldn't man the bar. Thomas typically hated the noise, but would keep his mouth shut through it and serve drinks accordingly. Mariska came out from the kitchen and placed down my normal order of a simple burger. I almost smiled at the feeling of being able to do this whenever I wanted now that I had money.

I could hear the shouting from the boxing ring room meaning another two customers were beating the snot out of each other to relieve tension. Almost better than therapy with Sofia Lamb. Little Sophie – Bill’s daughter – poked her head over the railing from the apartments that overlooked the bar and boxing ring before her mother pulled her back inside.

I wrote down possible names of people that would be the perfect personage for this job all the while thinking of what Sofia Lamb had done to get under Ryan's skin so much that he would resort to trickery to get her arrested. _Big Kate? Nah, she's too much of a wrench jockey to gain any semblance to Sofia. And she'd just punch me for requesting that she work with Sinclair._ I scratched the name off. _Davis Pittman... Security guard at Ryan Amusements... too old_. I scratched his name off. _Elliot Nelson's still working on the needles to even agree to this_. The dots finally connected in my brain as I wrote down the name 'Stanley Poole'.

Stanley Poole was a weasel of man if I could call him a man, who would sell his mother if it meant getting a good story and was always at Mr. Ryan's beck and call for what stories to write. Any story he got he could spin to make it seem interesting and keep the paper selling. He worked for the newspaper company the Rapture Tribune as a reporter and writer. I knew Sinclair was already paying Poole not to say anything about his business assets which was the perfect setup. On top of that, everyone knew that Poole was a pathological liar. Lamb would chalk any lie he’d tell to his nature and mildly disapprove of it but would keep him on to ‘help him’ kick the habit.

I trashed the other pieces of paper and kept the one with the information that I knew of about Stanley Poole, including the detailed explanation about how he'd be perfect for the job.

Sinclair ordered, and he shall receive.

I hit the vents, crawling my way towards Sinclair's central office at his apartment in Olympus Heights. I removed the grate overlooking his desk and dropped down on the coral desktop, startling the businessman so much he nearly flipped backward in his chair. "Hawkeye! The door must be broken," He mused in a joking matter.

"Stanley Poole," I said, hopping off his desk.

"Stan Poole? What about him?"

I set the paper I wrote on over his manifest book. "Lamb's soon-to-be Judas."

Sinclair gave me a look before unfolding it and reading everything over; his chin gripped between his fingers. "I see your point. I'll get Stanley Poole in here."

Poole was inside Sinclair's office before I realized it. Sinclair had me stay around for the initial meeting just so that we may acquaint ourselves, knowing that Sinclair was going to use me as the go-between when Stanley would give his report, should he agree to this.

Poole fidgeted in his seat while Sinclair stared him down with a small smile on his face. "I have a job for you, Stanley," Sinclair started out. "Our dear friend Andy's making a move against Sofia Lamb an' we want you to build up a case against her."

Most of the discussion I ignored since it was about what Stanley was going to get out of it.

I leaned against the glass window overlooking the sea and crossed my arms, watching the numerous schools of fish dart past like the city didn't even exist, like it was just another coral reef. I even noticed a few sharks swim by, completely ignoring the people that passed through the glass tunnels. Despite how much of a lunatic Ryan was, he sure knew how to build purgatory with an excellent view.

"And this will be your contact outside of Sinclair Solutions an' Ryan Industries," Sinclair said gesturing over to me. I gave Stanley a side glance then returned to my fish-gazing. "She goes by the name Hawkeye. She will be the one you report to when you infiltrate Lamb's little collective farm. And she will be the one checkin' up on you randomly. Hawkeye will always be watchin'." He made me seem like the damn Boogeyman. "And you know the drill: no one is to know about her."

Stanley nervously nodded, understanding my role in this whole situation. Sinclair spun around in his chair to look me in the eye. "I'm guessin' you already know who our boy here can cozy up to, to get in, right?"

"Simon Wales. He's got a church in Siren Alley. He's sort of Lamb's lieutenant. Snuggle up to him with a story of how the Tribune is stopping you writing about whats what and you're a sure in."

Stanley stood up and asked, "And I'm supposed to trust the word of a duct-rat?"

Sinclair glared at the weasel man. "How do you know she's a duct-rat?"

Stanley sat back down at the dangerous tone of voice Sinclair used. "W-Well, she's thin like those Crawlers.  She's built for that kind of work."

"Regardless of what she is, you're trustin' the word of one of your bosses. Now go. You got a job to do." Stanley scurried out of the room to do what he was told when he heard the anger in Sinclair's voice. It surprised me that Sinclair jumped to defend me so quickly, having never experienced that before. "Doesn't that bother you when people call you 'Duct-rat'?" He questioned giving me a look over to try and read my emotions.

I shrugged. "It doesn't bother me really. After awhile, you get used to it, and soon it becomes white noise."

"How often do you hear it?"

I shrugged. “Usually people ignore me, but it does happen. Why do you think I travel by the air ducts almost all the time?" Sinclair nodded, understanding why I never came out of the air ducts much.

I jumped up on his desk and gave a leap up, grabbing the edge of the vent and hauling myself up and out of Sinclair's view. I replaced the grate and continued back to my apartment complex for much-needed sleep.


	4. Chapter 4

Poole was late.

I told him to meet me outside of the King Pawn at noon. The large clock overlooking the area just chimed saying it was 1 o’clock and I didn’t like to be kept waiting. The only thing interesting was seeing Prentice Mill looking rather rundown as he walked into the King Pawn with a pocket watch and several other fine things. I had heard the Atlantic Express was falling on hard times, but I didn’t realize just how hard it had fallen. With the Rapture Metro and personal bathyspheres now, the Express was made virtually obsolete except by the poor who didn’t bring in much income. Now Mill was down here, such a shame.

An influx of people meant they were getting off work for a lunch break and that’s when I finally spotted Poole.

Stanley looked like he was ready to leap out of his skin; for someone like him to wander around Pauper's Drop was something of idiocy, but I got a bit of amusement out of it.

It had been exactly two month since the deal with Stanley Poole regarding Sofia Lamb. He had a little trouble at first – getting the nerve to meet with Simon Wales – but progress was coming as he reassured me. He disliked my presence greatly and once told Sinclair that I reminded him of a hawk circling a field mouse. Sinclair got a laugh out of it since it referenced to the nickname he bestowed upon me. Sinclair still asked if I was going to tell him my real name, but that question was always met with a snarky remark.

As much as he would try to hide it from me, I already knew how his progress with Lamb was going, and so far he had just gotten his foot in the door being invited to Dionysus Park for Lamb's 'artist retreat'. Even had the blue morpho butterfly brooch to prove it. Pauper's Drop was practically buzzing with talk of it since it was free to the public. I had to give it to Lamb: She knew how to lure people into a trap.

I decided that Stanley had fidgeted enough and dropped down from the King Pawn sign. "Poole," I greeted simply, making the skittish man spin around to face me. “You’re late.”

"Ah... Hawkeye... You, uh, know how to make an entrance," He laughed nervously, scratching the back of his neck like a nervous tick.

He was blinking quickly, showing that his anxiety was hitting its peak. The beads of sweat on his forehead were the telltale sign. Rapture was typical cold and the only sweaty people around here were the ones just getting back from Hephaestus. Stanley was someone who probably hadn't had an honest hard day’s work in his life; if there was an honest bone in his little body.

“You’re. Late,” I emphasized.

His fidgeting got worse. “I-I know I was late… Um… the Express was…” He gulped. “A little full.” I gave him a look that said I was not impressed. "I'm, uh, I'm in. Yep, yours truly is a member of the Rapture Family."

"I know. And I know about the art show. Tell me something I don't know. Or better yet, surprise me."

"O-Okay. Lamb is even sponsoring me to ink it while I'm here. Little does she know I'm going to be writing about her!" He gave a small laugh like he just told a joke. When he saw I wasn't laughing he coughed. "No sense of humor, okay."

"My sense of humor is fine."

"Okay, um..."

"You better get working fast. Ryan's breathing down Sinclair's neck. In response, Sinclair breathes down my neck, and I breathe down yours. Understand? These tiny bits of information aren't going to cut it."

"Yeah! Yeah! I got it! I-I’ve been attending Wales’ sermons. The stuff he talks about… They’re all crazier than a box of frogs. Lamb sometimes attends and gives a few speeches to appease the crowd."

I nodded; glad that he was attending the sermons so I wouldn't have to. I was more than happy to let Sinclair talk my ear off instead of a pastor telling me I’m going to Hell and screaming my ear off. “Good. Keep it up. We need results.”

Stanley made his retreat, nearly running into a welder from Hephaestus. The welder just missed when he swung his wrench at Stanley's head to knock him out. When he went to swing again, he stopped short, seeing the blue morpho butterfly brooch pinned to Stanley's overall strap. The man let out a curse and stormed off. Seems that badge has become a safety net for his scrawny hide. He only paused for a second to gaze at the women leaning out the windows of the Luxury Rooms, trying to tempt customers into coming in.

I knew the welder though… Charles Kempton. The tall, ginger man was way too smart to be just an average manager in Hephaestus. He was good friends with Bill McDonagh who called Kempton up when he couldn't figure something out. A good man in a shit place. I keep him on my list of essential people I could use should the opportunity arise.

Stuffing my hands in my pockets, I left the area letting my feet take me where they pleased. I ended up outside of the apartment building Grace and James inhabited. I hadn't seen much of them since I started working for Sinclair and I’m sure they were worried about me. I had gotten a few letters in the pneumo from Grace asking for a visit either to the apartment or to the Limbo Room. Something to ease her fears.

But I couldn't go see them. The last time I did, they were relentless in trying to figure out who I worked for. She had found out about the wound on my back regardless since I involuntarily winced when James hugged me tightly. I shook my head and walked off before anyone could notice me.

I returned to my cozy little apartment, hearing the _beautiful_ sounds of someone vomiting into a garbage bin and arguments echoing down the stairwell. Something shattered in one of the apartments above me followed by a long string of curses streaming out of a window. I kept my hands in my pockets and a grip on my butterfly knife.

I barely was in my apartment five minutes before a knock on the door startled me. “Delivery!” A man shouted from the other side.

Looking through the peep hole, I saw a large dark skinned man looking bored as he held a paper bag in his hands. I opened the door and he held it out for me to take. “Who’s it from?” I asked.

“No clue, ma’am. I’m just the delivery man.”

I frowned but took the package regardless. Giving him a decent tip, he departed. Pulling the paper off revealed a wine bottle. What the hell is Chardonnay? It was made in the year 1919. “Okay then…” I muttered and went back into my apartment - being sure to lock the door behind me.

I had never tasted wine before, having been too young to have it when I came to Rapture, not even for a church commune. My mother wasn't a believer so I never had a chance to taste the sacramental wine that the local bishop would have people drink when they received their blessings. 'The blood of the Christ' I think they would say, which to me sounded a bit morbid. Who would want to drink someone's blood? Vampires and cannibals drink blood, but to drink 'blood' during church? That just sounded like sacrilege. There was a lot of the Catholic-Christian-whatever-it-is religion that I just didn't understand, but I really couldn't say anything about the matter since I never went to a church service.

I wasn't going to start attending the religious ramblings just to sate a curiosity _or stupidity_. Stupidity killed the cat, curiosity was framed. On top of that: god forbid if Sinclair ever thought I was 'curious' about religion, I'd never hear the end of it. I'm almost never curious; all I want is information. Curiosity has little to do with my decisions. I get my information, give it to Sinclair so he can feel all warm and fuzzy inside and go home to sleep until early the next morning.

I was also surprised to find that Sinclair had taken the liberty to add wine glasses to my cabinets that I hadn't noticed before, not that I was looking very hard. So taking a seat in my sitting room with a fresh glass of wine in my hand, I took an experimental sip of the wine and grimaced. It was bitter, but sweet at the same time – almost reminded me of grapefruit juice. I finished off the glass and deposited the glass in the sink to be washed a little later. The wine was stored for a later occasion since I wasn't planning on drinking it much.

After a quick shower, I emerged from the bathroom dressed in a pair of brown trousers and the navy blue shirt Sinclair had bought me the first day of our collaboration. I draped my towel over my hair and started to make my way to the kitchen.

I heard a small ding from the pneumo positioned by the door, meaning I had received some mail, more than likely from Sinclair since picking up the phone seemed to be too much work for him. Stanley was downright terrified of me to even consider sending me a letter. I opened the small hatch door and found my letter sitting in the slot. Sure enough it was an envelope from Sinclair, but when I opened it, I nearly dropped the papers like they were on fire: it was a confirmation for reservations at the Kashmir where one of Cohen's performances was going to be showing – “Why Even Ask” performed by Kyle Fitzpatrick and Silas Cobb. The names on the reservations were Mr. Augustus Sinclair and Ms. Hawkeye.

I knew how much the reservations cost, but for Sinclair to book it and inform me... surely he had gone mad. What did he hope to gain by sending me these? I shook my head and threw the papers on the coffee table and went to make myself some dinner. There was no way I was going to the Kashmir.

I looked up from my meal preparations sharply when I heard a few knocks on my door. For someone to come around at this time was suspicious since I had no acquaintances other than Grace, but she was performing tonight at the Limbo Room. Opening a nearby drawer, I pulled out a long carving knife for some protection should it be a Splicer deciding to use what little smarts they had to lure me out.

A quick peek through the peephole, and I sighed in both relief and annoyance. I opened the door and grabbed Sinclair's shirt, pulling him inside quick. I slammed the door behind us and growled, "Are you out of your mind?"

Sinclair gave an innocent smile and glanced around, completely ignoring the knife in my hand. "I see you settled in nicely," He commented taking a seat on the love seat. "Did you try some of the wine I sent you? I hope it was to your likin'."

I ignored his invasive questions. "Sure, make yourself at home. Eat some hard candy while you're at it. I hope you choke..." I grumbled.

I made my way back into my kitchen to dispose of the knife seeing as how I had no use of it. I could kill Sinclair with my bare hands if the need ever arose. Or kill him with that stick he uses to smoke his cigarettes that he's so fond of.

"I see you've found my invitation." He seemed smug as he picked up the discarded paper on my coffee table.

"Yes, I did. Is this some sort of joke?" I growled, throwing the knife in its respective drawer. I walked back to Sinclair and stood so that the coffee table was in between us. "I mean really! The Kashmir? 'Ms. Hawkeye'!"

"Well you won't tell me your real name, so I didn't know what else to write-"

"That's beside the point. The Kashmir?! You must be nuts."

"Or maybe I wanted to take my best asset out for some dinner. Treat her like a real woman an' not some duct-rat in my employ."

I stopped my ranting. "What are you trying to gain?" I asked carefully.

For someone like Sinclair, nothing is done without some sort of profit involved. People down here always said that Sinclair had a heart of stone which I was inclined to agree. The only thing that made this man smile was the sound of money in his pocket and the information I'd give him which was technically even more money in his pocket.

Sinclair inhaled a hit of nicotine from his Oxford Club and answered, "To know a little more about my asset other than what she does for me and what her nickname is."

"You're willing to be seen with a duct-rat in a high-end restaurant just to know my name."

"Is it that hard to believe? I truly want to know who you really are, Hawkeye, an' if it takes a dinner at the Kashmir, well then I'll step up to bat. Don't make me start beggin' now."

I sighed and placed my hand against my forehead. Sinclair was growing to be more of a headache as the weeks went on and he seemed to enjoy his role as my glorified headache. It wasn't that I disliked Sinclair, but I didn't like him either. I tolerated him, more or less, like one tolerates a rash on one's bum.

But I suppose dinner at the Kashmir wouldn't hurt since it would save me from having to cook my own meal. And on the plus, it would give me a potential list of targets to scope out for information that would make Sinclair smile like the Cheshire Cat from Lewis Carrol's popular story Alice's Adventures in Wonderland

"Fine."

"I knew you liked me."

"I don't. I tolerate your grating-on-my-nerves presence."

"So you do like me."

I groaned and left him where he sat to disappear into my room to find something suitable to wear.

I hadn't exactly looked over everything that Sinclair had taken the liberty of purchasing when I arrived and frankly I would have been surprised if the articles of clothing actually fit instead of me drowning in a shirt clearly a few sizes too large tucked into a pair of brown trousers I had stolen from a working stiffs locker when I was still living from doorway to doorway. The shoes I had purchased with my first paycheck fit nicely since my old pair had taken a toll for the worst after the run-in with the Crawler. I still wore the stolen items since I had grown accustomed to their fit and bagginess.

I pulled open the armoire doors and nearly stumbled back when I laid eyes on a few knee-length cocktail dresses that hung on separate hangers, each dry-cleaned, ironed of all wrinkles and ready to be worn. I pulled out the crimson-colored v-neck cocktail dress and laid it out on the bed for closer examination. It was solid crimson with the material made out of a mixture of silk and chiffon. Simple beading decorated the bodice and a wide collar so that the material would rest comfortably off to the side of my shoulders. Sinclair clearly had more style than he let on.

I shook my head and pulled off the clothing I was currently wearing. Slipping the dress over my head, I smoothed it out once it settled near perfect along my thin figure. I didn't have the ample bosom as most of the women did, but I had enough for it to be noticeable and to stay out of the 'flat-chested' zone, but I had no curves to speak of – a side effect from nearly being malnourished. I retied my braid just so it draped over my left shoulder for some sense of style – at least what I thought was style. With the final touch of a little makeup Sinclair once again took upon himself to buy and leave in my vanity plus a small ruby hairpin holding a bit of my bangs back from my blue eyes.

My mother once told me (back during the brief moment she actually cared) that I had gained my eyes from my father who I had never met. He had left shortly after I was born to fight in the big war, but my mother talked of nothing but distaste for his decision to join the war effort and offer his life for our country. It was a patriotic act, so when my mother spoke ill of him I would ignore her, having a form of respect for the deceased soldier.

With a final sigh of defeat, I joined Sinclair once more out in the sitting room. "Well, well," He mused standing up and setting his glass of wine on the coffee table. It seems he had helped himself to search for the bottle and retrieved a glass while he was waiting for me to finish up. "Don't you clean up nice – You actually look like a woman."

"Don't overstep my good fortune, Sinclair. Just be happy I agreed."

"Happy an' content."

He gave me a small bow like any gentleman would and offered me his arm once he was upright again. I rolled my eyes and setting my hand in the crook his elbow, allowing him to take the lead out the door of my apartment. I locked the door behind us and was lead to a bathysphere station where Sinclair's bathysphere waited for us.

I wrung my hands as the bathysphere took us to the Kashmir. Sinclair’s hand rested on my thigh making me swallow hard. “Everything alright, darlin’?”

“Sure, I’m fine. Just leave it at that.”

“Nervous about being seen by others there?” He asked. I shook my head and focused on the wide open ocean. A whale swam over a section of the city, uncaring like it was part of the terrain. A school of fish darted away to avoid the bathysphere. All the while, we were getting closer to the Kashmir.


	5. Chapter 5

The Kashmir Restaurant screamed high class and elegance from the fountain shaped neon and porcelain sign that hung over the doorway to the people that entered her doors. Everything inside the restaurant was elegant and grand, more than likely expensive. The lobby itself was a little small compared to the rest of the restaurant but was decorated accordingly to please the eyes and give the illusion of class. Sitting on each side of the Help and Reservations desk were two corridors: to the left was a corridor that no doubt led to the kitchen and the storage rooms while the corridor on the right led to the supervisor's office. 

Each table was made of fine oak imported from the surface during the initial building of Rapture, the chairs matching the tables with a small cushion on each for the comfort of the guests. It reminded me just how out of place I was when it came to the glamour of the rich and famous. Dresses that glittered and sparkled of varying expense adorned the women in a sea of color and extravagance. A duct-rat like myself milling about the rich and posh was something I wouldn't even dream of, much less actually do it. I could feel a few ladies draped over the arm of someone with money glowering at me cementing the idea that I didn't belong here. Maybe they despised my person because of whose arm I was holding. It was no secret that Sinclair preferred to attend parties solo, but still was asked to accompany women of varying notoriety and only accepted a few out of all of them. The last woman I heard was on his arm was Blanche de Glace, but that wasn't a very long period of time (3 days). 

I glanced up at Sinclair to see if he noticed the stares, but he showed no notion that he did. In fact, Sinclair looked happy as a clam. 

Sinclair guided us to the host who directed us to a table once he confirmed Sinclair's reservations. The dining foyer of the restaurant was definitely the main room of the restaurant. It consisted of a vast open center floor with a dessert table resting in the middle of it for the guests to help themselves or to order the wait staff to retrieve; two dining areas rested on each side of the room with two levels with balconies, a front second-floor balcony. Large chandeliers hung in with equal spaces between each as they lined the ceiling. A stage in the back of the foyer where one of Sander Cohen's disciples was playing the grand piano with about a dozen couples dancing to it. If I remembered correctly, the disciple's name was Kyle Fitzpatrick - the Mozart from the drop. Another – Silas Cobb – was singing one of Sander’s songs.

Fitzpatrick was about as old as I was, give or take a few years and had been under Sander Cohen's tutelage for a few years now. He used to be a resident of the Drop when he came here, but when his talent for playing the piano was discovered by Cohen he was quick to be snatched up and never again seen wandering the Drop looking for food. It was a little heartening to see someone from the Drop become somewhat of a success in the world of fortune.

Cobb had been a disciple of Cohen since Cohen was on Broadway as his music producer and anything else Cohen needed him to be: vocalist, pianist (when they couldn't get Kyle right away), guitarist (when they couldn't get Rodriguez right away), drummer – everything under the sun having to do with music.

We were seated at a table and the host waltzed off, nudging one of the many wait staff to get them to serve us. A young woman walked over and gave us a forced friendly smile. "What would you like to drink tonight? We have a wide variety of alcoholic beverages, soda pop, and a large collection of fine wine," She rambled off holding up a small pad and a pen.

Sinclair gave her a charming smile and said, "I'll have a gin and tonic if you would please, my dear." He looked over to me waiting for my answer.

It wasn't like I knew every drink combination out there, much less what wine would go well with the meal. I gave Sinclair a sharp look that screamed 'help' and he answered for me, "Make that two." The waitress nodded and jotted our orders down before handing us our menus. With the click of her heels, she left us to our menu gazing.

I was floored at how expensive the food prices were and was even more surprised when I saw that they had genuine beef from the surface. Normally for beef to be imported it cost an arm and a leg to do it, but I guess the Kashmir had that arm and leg to give up. Or they bought it from Fontaine and his band of smugglers. Either way...

I glanced over at Sinclair who closed up his menu and laid it down on the table. He already had his order and I was still trying to figure out what this French-Italian-something word was. There wasn't even a plain old burger on the menu! He must have noticed my confused look and asked, "Do you want me to order for you?" I looked away in my slight embarrassment and nodded curtly. "It's safe to assume you've never been to a high-end restaurant."

Either he was daft or teasing me. I glanced around at other couples or dinner parties that were seated at the other tables and all of them had one thing in common: They were making supposedly inconspicuous glances at me. Figured, none of them knew who I was and the women were nothing but a bunch of gossiping busybodies who didn't know how to keep their nose out of someone's business. Right about now, Sinclair and I were the talks of the busybodies.

The waitress finally returned after 20 minutes of waiting with our drinks and Sinclair placed our orders: A roast turkey with dressing and potato slices for him and a chicken fricassee served with rice for me. The waitress left once again. I took a hesitant sip of the gin and tonic finding the taste somewhat unpleasant since I never really drank before in my life. Mostly due to some… I guess childhood trauma of my mother drinking herself into a stupor which caused us to lose all of our money, ending with her in the Pink Pearl and myself wandering the streets trying to avoid being killed or starving to death. My mother had also threatened to light me on fire once with vodka and a book of matches when I wouldn't stop saying I was hungry.

Sinclair entwined his fingers together and set his elbows on the table, resting his chin on his hands. "So, what do you think?"

"Think of what?"

"Think you'll tell me your name now?"

I shook my head at his persistence and gazed around the room once again. I was a little surprised to see the Andrew Ryan sitting at a table with another woman that I recognized as Diane McClintock gushing over something or another. Ryan looked about as interested in what she had to say as a cat did an annoying child poking its side. He looked in pain like listening to Diane talk was the most torturous thing ever. I didn't know whether to feel bad for Diane or feel bad for Ryan.

Our food arrived in a timely manner and we ate our meals in relative silence aside from the occasional questions from Sinclair about the food or the waitress refilling Sinclair's gin and tonic since I barely drank any of mine. Sinclair touched my hand and gestured his head toward a skinny woman with black hair pinned back by a hair clip with dangly hoop earrings hanging from her earlobes. She dressed swished around her ankles as she stalked toward young Kyle Fitzpatrick with her nose upturned. "That's Anna Culpepper. She and Sandy Cohen have a sort of rivalry in Fort Frolic. She's _very_ popular with ol' Andy." There was a very sarcastic tone to his voice. "She could be someone you could look into for me. Ryan would appreciate it."

"Another body to float in the ocean," I commented knowing what Sinclair was implying. "More than likely it's Cohen voicing his extreme hatred of her to Ryan and Ryan just wants Cohen to shut up. And with the things she's been singing, it's no surprise Ryan agrees."

I watched Kyle look up at her almost fearful like he was staring Death in the face. I couldn't hear what they were saying over the conversations of the people around us, but from I could gather from Kyle's reaction and Anna's angered features she must have been bitching about why some of her music wasn't being played. Kyle was more than likely trying and failing horribly to defend himself from the wrath of the woman. Silas pulled the woman away from and pointedly gestured to the exit. As I say: Never trust anything that bleeds for a week and doesn't die. Poor guy.

Anna let out a frustrated scream and stomped off. Kyle let out an inhaled breath and solemnly continued playing a little more rigid than the smooth flowing music that he was playing before. Silas leaned over and patted the boy’s shoulder. The patrons whispered amongst themselves over the whole ordeal. Anna probably wouldn't be able to show her face in public without a boat full of scrutiny.

The waitress returned and cleared away our empty plates and handed us the dessert menu. I pushed the menu away; I learned my lesson from the first menu fiasco. Sinclair smiled at my resistance of menus now and placed his own down on top once he had decided what to order. "So you've been working with me for nearly a year. Any chance I can finally know your name out of the kindness of your little heart?"

I once again ignored him. If he decided a good dessert, maybe I'd give him the benefit of knowing my name. It was a game that was becoming boring, but I wasn't just going to just give it to him. Make him work for it; a new game to play. "What about you tell me about your family? I know virtually nothing about you."

I bit the inside of my cheek before deciding to be nice for once. "I was born in 1935, February 15th. Father died a few years after I was born. Came down here with my mother."

"When did you come to Rapture?" He questioned, looking genuinely interested in me and my life.

"1948."

Sinclair clicked his tongue and finally asked the dreaded question, "Why did you end up on the streets? I thought you'd have lodgin' from your mother."

"We did when we first came," I started. Sinclair deserved to know, with how well he'd been treating me; a nice change from the cold stares and snide remarks. "A nice little place in the Rapture Metro Apartments. My mother worked in Hephaestus, but was a violent drunk. After getting caught drinking on the job, she was fired. She spent most of her time in the pubs and eventually was almost never home. Found out she started to whore herself out: first at the Luxury Rooms and then at the Pearl. Our renter kicked us out and I never saw her again leaving me to wander Pauper's Drop for something to eat at the age of 14. I adapted, learned the air duct systems and survived. That's my sob story."

Sinclair nodded respectfully and leaned back in his seat. "What about you? Quid pro quo?" I questioned taking another sip of the gin and tonic. I was getting used to the taste now and could tolerate it just a little more than the first sip.

"Me? I was raised in sunny Panama. Granddaddy helped build the big ditch until he drowned in it. Then I moved to Georgia to strike it rich. Rapture all the same. I also used to raise prize winnin' spaniels. Smartest hounds I ever worked with. Great huntin' dogs too. I'd embarrass myself if I told you how old I am."

I smiled and said, "40." He looked surprised but the realization washed over him that I knew a bit more than I let on. Sinclair's life wasn't exactly that under the wraps. "And you're spending time with a 20-year-old. That doesn't look strange at all."

He just grinned and let out a belly laugh. "With age comes wisdom an' experience."

The conversation was cut short when the waitress returned and Sinclair gave her the order of angel cake with strawberry sauce drizzled over the top.

When it was delivered to our table it took one bite to make me see heaven. It was the most delicious thing I had ever tasted in my life and it wasn't much of a life.

Once dessert was finished we reclined slightly in our chairs, stuffed and ready for a good night's sleep. I noticed Sinclair's gaze on me and, finally, I asked, "What is it?"

"Let's dance."

He stood up and grabbed my wrist, pulling me with him to the ballroom floor. Kyle was playing a piece by Bach that was more on the slower side. I gave Sinclair a slightly nervous look, having never danced before in my life; not even to Grace's songs. I always arrived after closing so there was no dancing involved. The less contact with people I had, the happier I was, so Sinclair and Grace were the only ones I had any real contact with. “I-I don’t know how to dance.”

"It's easy," He reassured, resting his hand on my waist and taking my left hand in his right hand. He guided me through the steps and I caught on quickly and finally Sinclair could enjoy the dance without having to worry about me impaling his foot with my heels. "So, did you have a good time tonight?" He questioned in my ear.

I honestly nodded. It was the most uncomfortable thing I had ever done, but I was glad I accepted. "Jamie Donovan."

"Pardon?"

I swallowed the saliva that built up in my mouth. "My name is Jamie Donovan."

"Pleased to know your name, Miss Donovan."

The night ended after a few more songs and Sinclair paid the bill for the meal.

He walked me home. It felt a little strange to just walk home since I normally used the air ducts to get to my destinations, but it was nice. Frightening, but nice. It was just something I wasn't used to with my life. When we reached my door, I released Sinclair's arm. "Thank you."

"No, thank _you_ , Miss Jamie Donovan."

"Don't make me regret telling you my name, Sinclair." 

"Wouldn't dream of it, Miss Donovan." 

I bade him a good night and walked into my apartment. I checked the pneumo for any messages I might have received and was pleasantly surprised to see one from Grace inviting me to the Limbo tomorrow for a special Jazz Night they were performing. She mentioned in her letter that she was a little worried that I didn't stop in as often as I used to at night and she just wanted to know if I was alright and settling in well.

I kicked my heels off once I was safe in my bedroom and stripped my dress off, tossing it over the vanity chair. I changed into a nightgown and crawled into bed, enjoying the soft covers that enveloped me. I knew better than to wonder when the next one was, but this would be the best memory that I would cherish. Sure, the human body had 7 billion nerves and Sinclair always managed to get on every single one of them, but he at least knew how to show a woman a good time.

For those few short hours, I felt more like a woman than a duct-rat. I felt… pretty and valued.


	6. Chapter 6

With a newspaper clenched in my fist, I burst into Sinclair’s office startling him. “I see you _have_ heard of a door,” He chuckled, despite knowing I was angry.

“What the _hell_ is this?!” I demanded, waving the newspaper for him to see. I was almost violent I was so pissed. I had only glanced over the newspaper to see if there was anything worthwhile when a headline popped out at me and sent me into a blind rage. I slapped the newspaper on the desk and stabbed the article with my butterfly knife leaving a mark on his desk. “ _Sinclair’s Newest Dame_ ,” I read off. It even showed a picture of the two of us dancing. “I thought you had Stanley paid off.”

Sinclair picked up the newspaper and read over the article. “I pay Stanley not to write any negative articles ‘bout me an’ the reason this article is here is that Stanley didn't write it. Alex Baker did.”

I frowned at the name, my anger boiling down to just below seething. “That damned paparazzi… I thought he was too consumed by Fontaine’s personal life.” I ran my hand through my bangs and slumped in one of the seats in front of his desk. I turned in it sideways and rested my legs up on the armrest.

Sinclair looked at the picture again and pointed out, “At least it’s the back of your head… Wait there’s someone _actually_ interested in what Frankie does in his personal life?”

I nodded and crossed my arms. “I’m surprised he hasn't ended up dead.”

He chuckled at that. “Ol’ Cranky Frankie’s probably being careful at this point.”

“I know he is. He barely does anything himself for his business. Everything I've seen, it’s been someone else doing the dirty work,” I explained.

“Good, you have been keepin’ up with him. I was getting worried!” He grinned, pearly white teeth glaring back at me.

He finished his cigarette and snuffed it out in the ashtray. His secretary came in and delivered some documents pertaining to the Sinclair Solutions labs and emptied his ashtray. She paid me no mind whatsoever, used to my presence there. As quick as she arrived, she was gone with a final, “Good day, Mr. Sinclair.”

Sinclair quickly glanced over the reports from the labs before setting it aside for a more in-depth review later. “Now, as fumin’ as you are about this article, I know it’s not the only one you noticed.”

I rolled my eyes and nodded. It had front page headline news, how could I miss it? Not only that, I was there when they pulled him out of the water to begin with. _The biggest news of the century_ it claimed: a newcomer who showed up in a diving bell with the personal and exclusive interview with the Rapture Tribune.

The man was apparently deep sea diver investigating the disappearances of many ships and submarines in the area around Rapture. The citizens welcomed him with open arms wanting to know what the surface was like in recent times since the war was supposedly over. Even _I_ didn't know his real name since whenever he would try to correct someone on the nickname they would blow him off and continue with the Johnny Topside nonsense. He had already become something of a celebrity around Rapture, but Ryan was convinced he was a spook from the surface come to ransack his city and beat it into submission for their government.

From what I could figure out, he was an average guy that was in the wrong place at the right time it seemed, having arrived in Rapture in a diving bell – a feat nearly impossible since Rapture was supposed to be well hidden. He didn't really enjoy all the attention he was getting but enjoyed the luxuries that came with it: the free shows as Fort Frolic, the meals at the Kashmir, the attention of a few single women. The guy was alright in my book, just a man of unfortunate chance to arrive here in Rapture the way he did and with Ryan's growing time bomb of paranoia.

I wasn't surprised when Sinclair said, “Andy wants Johnny locked up.”

I gave him a mock surprised look. “You mean he made it a week without being locked up? I’m amazed at Ryan’s restraint.”

Sinclair tapped his cigarette on the cut glass ashtray and nodded. “You an’ me both, darlin’. But I don’t care about Andy’s desire for ol’ Johnny boy to see the inside of one of my cells. I’m more interested in the fact that Stanley is gettin’ off track. Andy wants results on Lamb an’ giving me the cold shoulder about any other business we were going to make. Honestly, I’m hurt.”

“Sure you are. I’m sure your wounded pride can recover.” I sighed and got up from the chair. “I’m on it. Meet me at Mo’s in 30 minutes.”

“Will do. Have fun.”

Sinclair wasn’t wrong about Stanley not being as productive as we’d like. Poole was all over this man like a fruit fly on a withering peach wanting to get the story about the man. He was relentless until Johnny finally gave in and accepted being interviewed. The diver was flustered by the personal questions that Stanley would ask and tried his hardest to avoid the squirrel of a man but was failing horribly. Maybe he should have answered the questions because now Ryan wants him gone.

I left Sinclair’s office to track down Squirrely Stanley and last I heard he was headed for one of the cafés in Olympus Heights stalking Johnny again. It wasn’t that hard to find him, really: Just had to follow the stench of body odor coming from Stanley Poole who obviously hadn’t heard of personal hygiene. Just like I predicted: he was following Johnny Topside around like a bad rash.

Seeing no other option for discretion, I reached out and grabbed Stanley by the back of his shirt. I jerked him back from the newcomer and growled, "Don't you have a job to be doing? Sinclair’s getting antsy."

"Y-Yeah, right, on it!" He scurried away before he could aggravate me any more than he already had. That was easier than I expected.

I gave Johnny a nod and went to leave, but he touched my shoulder to stop me. "Wait a second,” He added.

“Yes?”

“I just wanted to say thanks. I couldn't get him to leave me alone for the life of me.” He smiled in relief and quickly removed his hand from my shoulder in favor of scratching the back of his neck.

I shrugged. “Poole’s a pest. Just swat him over the back of the head if he bugs you.”

He nodded and quickly looked around, before finally catching sight of Poole rushing through one of the bulkheads. “He’s in a hurry. What job is he supposed to be doing?”

I stuffed my hands into my pockets and walked off. “For your health, I wouldn't ask too many questions like that.”

“Why not?” He jogged up to walk beside me.

I stopped and looked up at him quickly realizing just how tall he was. He could have easily towered over Sinclair since I almost had to crane my neck to look up at him with my meager 154 cm.

I leaned in close. “Because you’re walking through an ocean full of sharks. The sharks swimming around outside are less dangerous than in here. Be careful what you say to others.”

Sinclair had smirked when I approached him. He was waiting patiently for me at a small diner called Mo's Diner to avoid some unnecessary attention since the newspaper article. He had already ordered two slices of handmade blueberry pie for us. I gave him a brief summary of the situation between Stanley and Johnny. "Never thought you'd save him from Stanley," Sinclair pointed out, the smile never leaving. "Much less save anyone." He helped himself to his piece of pie and grinned at the taste. “This is pretty good.”

I picked up my own fork and dug into the free pie. "Stanley’s a pest and he’s new here. I only did him that small favor. Besides, it got Stanley back on track."

He shook his head and leaned in. "So, any dirt on our dear friend Johnny Topside?"

I crossed my arms and leaned back in my seat. "He's not here for what Ryan thinks he is if that's what you're asking. He was looking into the disappearances of submarines and ships that vanished during the war around here. I wouldn't be surprised if Ryan blew them out of the water to protect the city. That or the war got them and they’re sunk nearby."

Sinclair let out a loud sigh and announced, "Well, as much as you love our chats, I have to get back to work. All these businesses don't run themselves, you know." He threw some money down on the table for the wine he was drinking and the pies and snuffed his cigarette out in the ashtray. He gave me one last thousand dollar Steinman smile and meandered towards the bathysphere station, leaving me to sit and bask in the welcomed silence with the exception of the small talk people around me were doing, but I could easily block them out.

Over a full year I had been working for Sinclair; nearly 7 years living in Rapture; almost 6 years without any hide or hair of my mother coming around asking for money which that in itself was a blessing. For once, I enjoyed where I was at: aside from the occasional splicer attack and dealing with Stanley, I could tolerate it and for once worrying about getting a shiv in my belly was not on the top of my priority list. It was still there don't get me wrong, but I wasn't as worried about it as I was before Sinclair came around.

The title of 'duct-rat' did come with perks. I didn't know anyone else with that title attached to their person since it used to mean something equal to the excrement stuck to the bottom of someone’s boot, but now being a duct-rat was a job that I could pride myself in saying I did quite well. I could even say I was a master at hiding in plain sight. I may still dress the same as I did when I first made the deal with Sinclair – brown trousers, a white work shirt and worn shoes with socks – but that was just what I was used to wearing for climbing through the air ducts.

I finished the pie Sinclair so graciously bought and left for the Limbo Room to watch one of Grace’s shows that I had promised to see after my visit to her a week ago.

The Limbo Room was packed with the people of Pauper's Drop already, waiting to hear the songs that Grace would sing about life in the Drop. Grace made her way to the stage, her beautiful voice immediately filling the room with her songs, making people in the room smile, clap, and dance along with the words. Some even started to sing-a-long having heard it before, but even that was butchered since most couldn't remember 2/3rds of the song when they were completely smashed.

I gave Grace a rare smile and leaned against the back wall, crossing my arms. Grace was a beautiful woman, even with her twilight years coming up on her. She had the wrinkles to signify her age, but age was kind to her – aging her like a fine wine. She was still beautiful and people often gave James a clap on the shoulder saying how lucky he was. Even now in her blue sundress with a yellow scarf wrapped around her graceful neck, she shined like a star her face showing the feelings of her words. She expressed the sympathy and understanding as the songs required, but there was also sadness to it, which had never been there before. I glanced around for any sign of James but was shocked to not see his curly head of hair anywhere. He was always at Grace's shows, showing support for the woman he loved.

Perhaps he got caught up at work or was sick. No need to jump to any conclusions just yet. He was there a week ago, so I hoped he was fine.

The show came to a close and the Limbo was slowly emptied out since she was taking a break before the midnighters came in. Grace waved me towards the backstage area and I followed, looking around for any wandering eye on myself or on Grace. Grace's dressing room was just how I had left it the day I moved into the apartment in Apollo Suites; the same vanity covered in makeup and other necessities, only difference was a new picture of Grace and James embracing each other with smiles on their faces and a note from James saying _With all my love, x James_. A nice little token of love from James, nothing too extravagant, but romantic nonetheless just like what Grace deserved.

"James is gone..." Grace stated – her voice cracking to show she was holding back tears.

"What?" James? Grace's James? He was gone?

"I think he was trying to organize the folks against Ryan... And now he's gone!" Grace explained, the tears starting to fall. My face fell – now I understood.

There was a little talk about rebelling against Ryan, about making him see what was really happening down here, but normally that was as far as it went: talk. All it would take is one squealer to go squealing to Sullivan and they'd end up locked up in Persephone. "And now..." Grace choked out, her hands clenching her dress. "I'm scared to death that they're going to come for me!"

This was not what Grace deserved. There was no way I was going to let Ryan take Grace from her place here. Sure, she didn't deserve the Drop, but the people needed her or else there'd be riots in the streets and a lot more dead. Her music flooding the intercoms of Pauper's Drop got people through the day; I know it soothed me on more than one occasion from the fears of Rapture's nights and the madness around me. "James was the only man I ever loved... Now it's like he never came to Rapture," She spoke, mostly to distract herself from the pain of losing him. "He heard me sing in the Limbo Room, came up all bashful." She smiled at the memory. "He liked to hear songs about what really happens here in this town. Baby girl, he thought of you as his daughter."

I remembered that night. It was one of the first nights I had spent sleeping in Grace's dressing room for the night. I had arrived earlier than normal to hear Grace sing again and watched James ask her on a date. He had a bouquet of lilies with him, wrapped in white tissue paper. Never had I seen a black man blush that red before; looked like a cherry dipped in chocolate I had thought and made me giggle at the notion. James never knew why I had unconsciously called him 'Red' for a while until I was a little older and could fully explain it to him in a way that made sense.

James could sing too, but stage fright always got the best of him and made his voice squeak something terrible. It was always at its best when he thought no one was listening.

I allowed myself to give Grace a comforting hug to try and ease her pain, but I knew that the loss of James was hard for her. "I'm sorry," I whispered. I gave her one last squeeze before releasing her. "If there's anything you need, just give me a call. Money, medical, company - doesn't matter."

I walked her home, just listening to her tell stories of the things she and James had done to put her mind at ease. The few stories about Eleanor Lamb caught my attention though. I heard of Sofia's daughter, but it sounded like this girl was a genius being home-schooled by Sofia herself, isolated from the rest of Rapture's children and society. I didn't know if I should dislike the girl for being Sofia's child or feel pity for her _because_ she's Sofia's child.

She gave me another hug when we reached her door in the Sinclair Deluxe and retreated inside to no doubt cry herself to sleep, knowing she was going to sleep without James for the first time in a long time. “Try and get some sleep, Gracie. I’ll see what I can do about James.

I let out a long sigh at Ryan's growing cruelty: James didn't deserve to be locked up in Persephone. He just wanted things better for the people of the Drop which shouldn't entitle imprisonment. But going against Ryan held a death sentence.

With the coming New Year, Ryan would only get worse. Getting better was not in the near future for sure. Ryan growing a single moral bone in his body was like asking a jellyfish to do the same. I didn't know how much I could keep Grace out of the line of fire, knowing she had gone to see Sofia Lamb; the very woman I was working with Sinclair and Ryan to take down, not that I'd ever tell Grace that.

My apartment seemed darker now. While I was snug asleep in my bed, James was trapped in Persephone. I knew Sinclair wasn't the worst owner in the world and made sure the inmates were fed properly, but it was still a prison: no different than those on the surface.

I did mention it to Sinclair and while he couldn't go against Andrew Ryan’s orders, he could at least make sure James was properly taken care of and never uncomfortable. Even gave visiting rights to Grace if she so pleased. It wasn't James’ freedom, but it was the best I could do. He was healthy at least.

Only 2 months into 1955 had passed before Johnny Topside became a ghost; completely wiped from Rapture's records and people told to forget him. Sinclair had said that he was surprised that Johnny had lasted as long as he did with Ryan's paranoia but figured it was my lack of anything incriminating on him that kept him safe – mostly. His downfall was his own doing: he made the mistake of voicing to Sullivan of all people that Ryan was a little power hungry that earned him the one-way trip to Persephone to shut him up. Did I feel bad for him or guilty that I couldn't save him? No. I warned him that he wasn't to let his guard down for a second.

And he thought I was just joking.

Sinclair dragged me along to the St. Patrick’s Day party at the Sinclair Spirits. All I could say was ‘typical Americans’. What truly surprised me was that Fontaine had made an appearance. Only briefly, but it was enough to drive a stake of fear in me. Fontaine was someone I both respected and feared despite everything else in Rapture. Fontaine was nothing but a conman who always manages to be where the evidence isn't like any top-rate conman because he pays someone _else_ to be there. He was the most dangerous type of conman as well; the kind with vision. He was the one who initially funded the research into ADAM when Tenenbaum discovered it, deciding the kraut's crazy ideas might make a profit. If anyone was going to take Rapture from Ryan, it was Fontaine no doubt about it.

I had overheard that Fontaine was getting a new secretary having ‘fired’ that old Betty that used to work for him and constantly bitched about him at the Fighting McDonagh’s. I've heard my fair share of an earful from her when I'd turn into her venting post. I knew well enough that she was dead.

Fontaine had left about an hour after he had arrived with a cigar between his teeth and his hired muscle behind him. Sinclair clapped me on the shoulder and said, "Well, that was bracin'. I sent that invitation as a joke."

"What did you expect from Fontaine? He's not exactly quiet about his businesses or his presence. Much like you but scarier."

"I'm not scary?" He took a minor offense at the comment.

I gave him a skeptical look and said, "Sinclair, you're about as terrifying as a box full of lizards. Some may find you scary, but to me, lizards aren't scary at all."

"A box full of lizards?"

"Yes."

Sinclair hummed again and inhaled his nicotine stick. "I guess that's not the worst I've been called."

"I could get more creative."

"No, no, a box of lizards is fine an' dandy. So anything of interest?"

“You’re secretary is sleeping with one of Fontaine’s boys. Your ‘Head of Marketing’ – Harold, right? – is skimping the money you give him for the advertisement of Sinclair Solutions. He just admitted to coming into a large amount of cash to one of the ladies here. Also said that you wouldn't notice.”

Sinclair hummed in disapproval of Harold’s actions. Thankfully, Sinclair wasn't like Fontaine where people end up disappearing or dead. He just fires them and makes their lives as miserable as possible. “Keep it up, darlin’.” Sinclair moseyed on to talk to a few others of his clients.

There were a few others noteworthy like Hector Rodriguez. He was another of Cohen's disciples; a musician that favored the acoustic guitar over any other string instrument I knew he could play. He also favored a bottle of whatever he could get his hands on over human contact aside from Kyle Fitzpatrick (in more way than one, which I don't judge over) and Silas Cobb (with his music).

Diane McClintock was also there with Anya Andersdotter and Glace de Blanche, enjoying the variety of wine Sinclair had sold in the brewery at a discount for the New Year’s party. She looked distressed about something, but every time she'd try to voice her problem to Blanche she was thoroughly ignored by the woman flirting with the man next to her, enticing him with her flowing French accent. Anya apparently wasn't being much help and seemed keener on talking about her daughter. Diane eventually gave up trying to talk to her 'friends' and lost herself in her wine.

The rest of the night was uneventful with bouncers occasionally throwing the completely pissed patron out of the place to throw up in the boardwalk. Sinclair _politely_ dismissed the moronic Harold to go home in shame. He’d probably end up in the Drop or worse. Not that I cared what became of him.

Sinclair escorted me to the Metro Station and bade me goodnight. I was unaware of what tomorrow would bring. Specifically in the form of an annoying woman who would become a secretary.


	7. Chapter 7

I should have kept my mouth shut about that moron Travers discussing with that cold-as-ice woman named Doris about sending a temporary secretary to Fontaine the next day – someone named Camille. Sinclair’s own new secretary had left several minutes prior to me arriving in his office after Sinclair had sent a letter, but had left the second cup of coffee for myself even though I hate coffee.

That cup was swatted across the room as I shouted, "You're insane!" Sinclair had voiced that I should go see what the new secretary was like.

"What's insane about it?"

"Look, you may get this strange notion that targeting people around Fontaine is a good idea, but I can tell you right now: messing with his secretary would not only get me killed but it would get _her_ killed if he feels like she’s in too deep with you."

Sinclair folded his fingers together and rested his chin on them. “If I can become friendly with her, it may just save her life. You couldn’t get anywhere with his last secretary because… what were your words again? ‘She’s snide woman with a stick jammed so far up her rear end she’s coughin’ out splinters’. Those were your words. This is a new girl. Someone already on our radar. If she goes missin’, we know it’s him.”

“A lot of ‘if’.” I shook my head. “I’ve seen the new girl already. Her apartment is a floor above me. She’s just a goody-two-shoes with a pretty face who stares _longingly_ at Olympus Heights like every other dame there. Fontaine’s going to scare her shitless and then we’re back to square one.” He hummed and smiled. I knew where this was going. “You still want me to find her weak spots.”

“Bingo! This should be simple. Women always get along right?”

I snorted. “What universe did you crash land from?”

“Timbuktu. See what you can get from this girl. Anythin’ of Fontaine’s is somethin’ I want information on.”

"You must really want me dead," I stated, crossing my arms in a huff.

Sinclair chuckled humorously as he corrected, "I'm not trying to get you killed, my dear Jamie. But soon I'm goin' to be goin' to arrangin' a meetin' with ol' Franky an' I'd like to know who he has in his arsenal. I already know about his bodyguards, but this is a new player in our game of chess. I have to know if I need to move a pawn to take her out or use her to swing around to the king. And if I know you, you won't let anythin' happen that would get me into a predicament where it comes back at you."

I shook my head seeing his logic: anything happened to Sinclair would come back to bite me in the ass in the long run. I had tried my best to keep my losses from Sinclair at minimal, but due to Suchong’s patient files on me I was now on record. I did steal my file from his filing cabinet, but I couldn’t burn them. They had my medical history which if I had any future medical appointments they would be needed. So they were stored in Sinclair’s safe. It'd take a good set of chain cutters to cut ties with Sinclair now. The moment the wrong party got a hold of that file – Jamie Donovan would become known to the public.

I comforted myself with telling myself that spying on someone more close to my age was a nice change since it meant that they weren't the typical captain of industry or a grumpy worker in Hephaestus like ol' Peachy and that meant they didn't have their head up their ass. It was quite the change from the bitch that used to be Fontaine's secretary. I guess I could be thankful that she was dead now so I wouldn’t see her elsewhere.

I took a position in the air vent over the soon-to-be secretary's desk area and relaxed, ready for the long haul. The only excitement so far had been Fontaine exiting his office with a cigar in hand. Fontaine had taken to looking over the desk to make sure everything was in place like he had no doubt told someone to do. He wandered back into his office and that was the last I saw of him.

Camille Adler walked in carrying a box of her belongings. Sinclair would get a kick out of her when he saw her. This was the woman unfortunate enough to get put to work for Fontaine, even if it was only temporary until they found someone to fill the position permanently – I almost felt sorry for her. Almost. She gave a start as the turret out front beeped at her, forcing me to bite my lip to contain my laughter.

Straightening herself out with a fresh appliance of makeup and smoothing her skirt, she knocked on Fontaine’s door. I could tell she was ready to bolt at any sign of danger. “Come in,” Came the reply and she disappeared into his office. I sighed and crawled as quietly as possible around the vents until I was overlooking the small wet bar in Fontaine’s office. It was difficult to see them with the small vent, but at least I could hear them.

“I’m Camille Adler. They transferred me from Finance.”

Fontaine gave her the rundown on her workspace and what she'd be doing for him – boring. I wondered if she knew what Fontaine's business was truly like and how long she'd last knowing what she did. Almost contemplating making a bet with Sinclair to make the outcome a little interesting, but decided against it. He handed her some ledgers from the Fisheries to calculate to make sure none of the boys were skimming off the top. I could already tell he knew someone was but wanted to find out whom via the ledgers. Dead men were walking the Fisheries now.

I left as silently as I came.

I dropped out of the air vents into Sinclair's office only to see he wasn't there, probably dealing with something or another over at one of his many businesses. I sat down patiently on the lounge chair situated opposite of his desk and drummed my fingers on the material.

My thoughts drifted once more to Camille Adler: How did someone like her end up in Rapture? I had seen her once before only briefly around the Artemis Suites but paid no mind to her aside from where she worked. Before, she was someone I wouldn't have considered to mention to Sinclair, but with her new position as Fontaine's secretary she had put herself on my radar – poor thing. To top it off, her apartment was only a few doors away from me.

Sinclair walked into his office a few minutes later and jumped a little spotting me sitting on his couch. "Back already?"

"I get my work done quickly. Or did you not figure that out?"

Sinclair smiled then asked, "So what did you find out, darlin'?"

"Same as what I told you before. Camille Adler is a pretty thing, maybe a little skittish, but otherwise it seems like Fontaine wants to keep her," I rattled off.

He quirked an eyebrow. "He wants to keep her? What gave that away?"

"Fontaine normally has the habit of scaring the _shit_ out of his new employees from day one regardless if he was hiring them or not. Wasn’t the case here."

"Is this the same Frank we're talking about?"

"The same Frank Fontaine we're talking about," I replied smoothly.

Sinclair hummed appreciatively, drumming his fingers against his desk as he took a seat in his chair. "Seems Miss Adler is one to keep an eye on. She's our ticket in the door if treated correctly. It's one thing to have a contract from Fontaine Futuristics, but it's another to get the insider on ol' Franky. I got a meetin’ with Fontaine in about a week, so we’ll see how this pays off."

"Good luck with that."

"Oh don't think you're not goin' with."

My eyebrows furrowed in disapproval. “What are you talking about? You’ve never had me ‘sit-in’ on your meetings.”

“Oh, you’re not sittin’ in on the meetin’. You’re going to watch Miss Adler an’ see how she reacts to me.”

I sighed in defeat and got off the couch. “I’m off to _check up_ on your secretary. Saw her with that big bodyguard of Fontaine’s at the Kashmir: Larry. Curious as to how she can afford the Kashmir.”

“Maybe she saved up?” Sinclair suggested but smirked at the annoyed look I made. “I’m guessin’ you’ve seen her there more than once.”

“Four times. In a month.”

He leaned back in his seat and lit up another cigarette. “I don’t pay her that much to afford that. Take care of it!” He called after me as I leaped off his desk and into the air vent.

I was right when it came to his secretary. Julia was sleeping with Larry and was apparently slipping cash from Sinclair’s received mail to pay for their dates to the Kashmir and for surgeries with Steinman so she was taking more money than I originally anticipated. Dumb bitch. She always rubbed me the wrong way with the amount of cosmetic surgery she has done to her face and breasts. It was a wonder if anything on her was real.

I relayed the information to Sinclair via the pneumo and let a smile slip.

Finally, I would no longer have to smell that god awful perfume ever again. It always lingered and ended up in my clothes when she sprayed it on especially thick. I almost stabbed her a few times for that alone but Sinclair denied my request to do it.

Sinclair wasn’t even polite about firing her the next day. On top of that, he threatened to lock her up in Persephone should she mention anything to anyone about his private dealings or me. She left with the most fearful look on her face – I was so proud of Sinclair.

I knew she’d probably angrily ramble about it once the inevitable drinking habit forms, but who’d believe a drunken former secretary?

* * *

I definitely called it when Travers stopped by Fontaine’s office to announce he had found a replacement. Fontaine wanted to keep Camille on, sick of the idiots Travers sent his way. How many secretaries had this man gone through? Three? Four, if I remember correctly.

He also promised to move her out of Artemis Suites and within a few days, there was a vacant apartment on the floor above me. Camille was in deep already. It would only be a matter of time before she got the scare treatment.

The day of Sinclair’s meeting with the Boogeyman came and I reached my designated section of the air vents overlooking the secretary's desk I was quick to realize that it was hotter than hell in here meaning the heating system was on the fritz. I was going to seriously injury Sinclair for putting me through this. Sweat dripped off of my nose and I wiped away what sweat I could on to my sleeve.

Fontaine had come out and after an exchange of words told her to go and collect Sinclair from the reception area. It only took a few brief minutes for Camille to return with Sinclair in tow discussing the conditions of the room that was supposed to be the coolest room in the building that she could find. I also noted the blush on her face and vaguely wondered what Sinclair had said to her. That or she had a thing for older men – time would tell. If she thought it was hot down there, I silently wished that she was in here sweating her nonexistent balls off for the sake of being Sinclair's moral support and seeing if _I_ was an easy target.

The room she led him into where Fontaine was already waiting in one of the black leather seats, his fingers drumming unconsciously on the table. He stood up one Sinclair was in his line of sight and stuffed one of his hands into his pockets, the other extending out to Sinclair. "Hey Gus," He greeted smoothly. "Good to see ya."

I almost scoffed; Fontaine was as happy to see Sinclair as one was happy to find a rattlesnake in his bed. Sinclair had probably thought the same thing I did when his eyes narrowed and he gripped Fontaine's hand, giving it a firm shake. "Yes, good to see you too, Frank."

Camille seemed to be a little on edge about leaving these two alone. If I had to put words to watching Frank Fontaine and Augustus Sinclair stare each other down was something like watching a gunfight about to go off. I didn't even know who would come out of that one alive since Fontaine was a conman good at his job while Sinclair had conmen in his pocket, whether free or locked up in Persephone.

Fontaine had his secretary get them some drinks and after she returned, Sinclair grabbed her wrist and asked for an ashtray: my queue to follow Camille once again and that he had the rest of this meeting handled. I glanced down at Sinclair a little wary of leaving him alone with a man that had most of the working class terrified – myself included – but I knew Sinclair had dealt with Fontaine before. This would be no different than the rest.

Camille spent the rest of the meeting at her desk with an improvised, folded paper fan in hand and repeated getting glasses of water which tormented me to no end. Water sounded absolutely delightful right now, but it wasn't like I could jump down and get a glass myself without giving myself away. On top of that, I couldn't just leave Sinclair here. Sinclair wasn't one of hired muscle, but would normally have one standing on hand in case things went south. Sinclair, the bastard, figured I'd be enough protection with the element of surprise on my side, but I knew Fontaine's muscle wasn't too far off, both of which had some their fair share of gene splicing making it a very dangerous outcome for me.

He was trying to get me killed, I swear to god.

Sinclair and Fontaine finally emerged from the meeting no worse for wear from what I could tell. Sinclair purposely made a pass at the secretary to get under Fontaine's skin as he had a habit of doing with people he worked with. "Kid, show him out," Fontaine ordered. He stormed into his office and gave the poor door a final slam to show he was pissed.

The meeting had gone very well for Sinclair it seemed. "It... didn't go so well, I guess?" She asked carefully in case Fontaine was still listening.

Sinclair let out some air and said, "I thought it went _very_ well, but I s'pose your boss is a temperamental man, hmm?" Understatement of the year.

"You could say that," She replied in a hushed tone.

Smart girl. Even if Fontaine was out of earshot, that didn't mean that he didn't have ears everywhere, but also not smart for voicing that to Sinclair and unknowingly me. Anything bad said about Fontaine from his employees found that their stay in Rapture would be cut short like Sammy who had voiced that he was going to go to the constable. Heard Fontaine's boys had him locked in a freezer in the fisheries awaiting Fontaine's arrival.

"I'm sure he'll be fine by this evening. It's just the heat and-"

She was making excuses for him. Cute. I shook my head and crawled back towards the bathysphere station to wait for him to return. I dropped out of the vents near the maintenance office and emerged myself in the small crowd of people milling about either waiting for the okay from the operator to go or waiting for their friends to arrive. I leaned against the wall to wait for Sinclair, appreciating the cool air around the bathysphere station despite the number of people.

"Hello, stranger," Sinclair greeted with a smirk. He stuffed his hands in his pockets and braced himself for the inevitable yelling he was about to receive.

"I will have a firm discussion with you later about having me wait in a hotter than hell air vent while you talk business with Fontaine. Right now, I just want to get out of here and get something cold to drink," I stated, giving him the stink eye.

"Are you feelin' all right, darlin'?" He asked trying to bring the anger off of him a little. "Maybe you need one of Dr. Hollcroft's Cure-All. That's what the people of Pauper's Drop get right?"

I shot him a glare. "Do you have any idea what is actually in that? It's only sea-water, fish guts, your wholesale hypos and a couple ounces of ADAM in each bottle. It's just a placebo. Doesn't do anything."

"Capitalism."

We were given the clear to enter Sinclair's bathysphere and return to his office building. It was right to business once we were locked in his office again. "So, what do you think about Miss Adler?" He asked. His hands folded together without thinking.

I leaned against the coral desk with my back turned to him. "Personally, I think she's going to get eaten if she doesn't drop the goody-two-shoes act, but then again I'm sure Fontaine has gotten that point across already."

"What about gettin' her to cooperate with me? I need every angle I can get on ol' Franky. He's dangerous."

"Surprisingly, it should be easy. Just keep giving the charming smile and she should be yours. You won’t rat her out to Fontaine which would give you brownie points. Someone like her will need a shoulder to cry on since she’s going to be isolated from her normal group of friends. Working with Fontaine has gotten you that foothold with her. Fontaine's one scary sonnova bitch and not many people are willing to openly talk about him, except..."

"Except me."

"Exactly. You seem to be the only person I know who isn't terrified of him."

Sinclair chuckled and lit himself a smoke. "You do business as long as I have you learn to not let Fontaine's type get the better of you. I may not be a conman, but I can think like a conman."

We lapsed into silence for a few moments before Sinclair grinned out of nowhere. "What?" I asked, wondering what the man had on his mind.

"You think my smile is charmin'?"

I groaned and leaped up into the air vent before he could ask any more stupid questions to stagger me again.

Damn Sinclair. Catching me on an obvious slip up on my part. Sinclair was a charming bastard; there was no denying it having used his charm to get him a lot of business. He knew that! Why did he specifically point out that _I_ had called his smile charming?

I banged my head sharply against the metal walls of the air vent and sighed. Damn Sinclair.

"Wha's tha'? Rat in the vents?" I heard someone question, with the level of speech of a backwater redneck. Splicer...

Bullets ricocheted through the thin metal walls of my means of travel making me unconsciously yelped and crawl frantically to get away. "I'll get dis rat!" The metal grate directly behind me burst up and in crawled one of those Crawlers.

"Shit!" I groaned crawling as fast as I could. There was no way I was going to make it; the closest vent was Sinclair's. But maybe if I double around... Sinclair's section of air vents traveled almost completely in a square with two drop-off points that I could slip around if I move correctly and if I was lucky, the Crawler would fall down the deadfall and I'd lose him.

A hook nearly got my shoe. Settled! I kicked back to startle the splicer long enough for me to get a few seconds head start.

The first drop off came around and I grabbed the other side of the vent pulling myself over. The splicer repeated my action, but his lower half fell into the drop-off. I scrambled to gain some distance as he managed to scramble his way back into the chase. "C'mere girlie! I won't hurt'cha!" He taunted, his hooks clanking against the metal walls.

The second drop off was around a corner making it a little more difficult to prevent one from falling down the drop. I lay on my side and pulled myself around the corner a little slower than I should have... A hook got buried my leg making me scream. It was a miracle that my other foot had connected with the splicers head, forcing him to release his grip on the hook. I had no time to pull the hook out so I stomached the pain and dragged myself using pure upper body strength towards the open vent leading into Sinclair's office.

I could almost smell his cologne breezing through the vent, the smell of his cigarette with real tobacco, the sound of his pen scratching across whatever paperwork he was doing; all of it beautiful right about now because that meant help. My hand reached the lip of the vent like reaching the finish line.

I spun around just as the splicer gave a leap at me forcing us through the hole and into Sinclair's office. My back slammed painfully into the carpeted floor that did little to cushion my fall; the hook in my leg dug in deeper causing me to scream.

Sinclair shot up in his seat at the sight of the splicer and me. "Jamie!"

"Get security!" I shouted grabbing the splicer's hand still holding a hook. Sinclair weaved around his desk and ran out the door to so as I said.

"Gettin' help? That's not very nice!" The splicer laughed maniacally bringing his arm down again.

My knee shifted between our bodies and I kicked as hard as I could to send the splicer across the room. I scrambled on my hands and one foot until I reached the stand with a potted plant situated on top and cracked it against the splicer's temple, knocking him right the fuck out. I was surprised the vase didn’t break until I realized it was made from coral.

Dropping the vase, I leaned against the bookshelf beside the stand, out of breath and out of my sanity. It had been months since I had a real fight with a splicer that caused any sort of damage... The pain rocketed up my leg when the adrenaline started to fade. "Fuck..." I cursed gripping my leg tight to try and alleviate some of the burning pain, but it did little. Blood soaked Sinclair's carpet around the leg with the hook still in it.

Clenching my jaw tight, my hand wrapped around the hook embedded in my flesh. With one final scream, the hook came out and was thrown at the splicer's body. Fuck plasmids, fuck ADAM, fuck Rapture...

Sinclair returned within a few short minutes with about 4 burly guards to drag the splicer out.

He kneeled in front of me and touched my sweaty forehead. "You alright, Hawkeye?" He asked before his other hand fell into the blood pool on the floor. "Marcus!" He called out to the trailing burly guard. "We need to get her to Medical." He tore off his jacket and pressed it to the injury.

"Yessir."

"Sinclair, no. I'm fine. I just need to get-"

"You need to get your butt to Medical before you lose the leg. Don't argue with me, Hawkeye!" Despite the nickname, I knew he was angry that I was even fighting against going to Medical despite the damage and blood loss. I – for once – stayed silent and let him do what he wanted.


	8. Chapter 8

The walk to the bathysphere was quiet, Marcus practically carrying me the whole way. The ride all the more so. It wasn't until we were in the Medical Pavilion that he said something. "That was foolish of you," He stated starting on his 4th cigarette since the fight in his office.

I only gave him a weak glare and held his suit jacket to the bleeding. "I'm sorry. Next time I'll just let the splicer kill me."

"That's not what I meant, Jamie."

"Then what did you mean? Explain it to me because that sounded like an accusation."

Sinclair looked me dead in the eye and said, "You fought one of those splicers by yourself. I didn't know if it'd kill you before I could get there with help. Darlin', I'll admit I was worried."

I let out a shaky breath to calm myself down. Sinclair was in his right to worry; I just took down a splicer with one of his potted plants, right smack dab in his office. The blood stain from my leg would probably never come out and he'd probably have to get it replaced. “Sorry.”

Steinman was quick to get me into surgery to repair my leg and judging by the noises he was making, I'm lucky I didn't lose the damn leg. "There was obvious damage to the leg muscle, but thankfully no major arteries and veins were ruptured. I've repaired what I could and have stitched up the injury. She'll have to stay off her leg for a few weeks to allow it to heal properly," Steinman advised. "Were you thinking of getting her a nose job while she's in?"

Sinclair gave him a look and said, "No thank you." Steinman shrugged, _suit yourself_.

The crutches were a pain in the ass to work and if Sinclair wasn't there, I would have ditched them. I was on enough morphine to at least get me to my apartment without feeling a thing. "You heard the doc," Sinclair smiled sympathetically at me. "You have to stay off the leg for a while."

"But what about work?" I questioned.

Sinclair waved his hand and said, "I'll just give you jobs that won't require the use of the air vents. Don't you worry your pretty little head. Maybe you can start a spy ring? Who knows?"

I mused the idea of starting a spy ring working for Sinclair. It would sure save me time and shorten the list of people. Rapture was a large population rife with people who either hate Ryan or Fontaine and are clever enough to remain undetected. It was a possibility I would look in to with several people already in mind.

"Sinclair?" I looked up at his taller figure.

"Call me Augustus. Yes?"

I looked down at my feet and shifted awkwardly. "Augustus... Thanks. I don't think I've ever thanked you during this whole mess."

He smiled. "It's no problem, Jamie. As we've agreed, I take care of my assets."

I smiled as well. "Yeah. And I'm the best asset you have."

He patted my back lightly as if he was afraid he'd damage me more. "Without a doubt, darlin'."

With his help, I got into his bathysphere and his driver took us to Apollo Square. Sinclair didn't just leave me in the station as I expected him to. No, he got out and helped me all the way home earning a few stares from the people around us, but I was hurt and they could fuck off. He opened the door to my apartment for me and settled me on the couch asking if I was comfortable. He offered to get me a glass of water which was when I chose to stop him.

"Augustus!" I exclaimed. "I'm okay. I can take it from here. Go home. It's late." Sinclair left, but not before hesitating at the door and giving me one last look over.

Fighting for my life once again really got me thinking about that damned southern yank: Augustus Sinclair drove me absolutely nuts, but he meant well. The man was infuriatingly charming and despite the barrier I had up to keep men like him out, he worked to gain my favor by giving the option of freedom and safety from the demons that prowled the night. He gave me a home, gave me money, and gave me his undivided attention when we conversed and what did I give him in return? Information and the cold shoulder half the time.

He wasn’t even that bad looking either… Okay, he’s handsome. I was mostly being distracted by my annoyance of the Panamanian to even notice. He wasn't built per se, but trimmed enough to make him appealing to look at which was perfect for business. His charcoal black hair was gelled with every hair in place; I couldn't even see the gray that should have been there. I couldn't decide if his hair was natural and the gray hadn't come in yet or if he dyed it. His eyes were an entrancing shade of green that lured you into giving up your wallet, but they were looking at me with a concern I never thought he had. I could tell his skin was once tanned, but years in Rapture had depleted the color to a shade of pale that matched everyone else. He wasn't intimidating like Fontaine, but could still control a room with the wave of a hand.

Augustus Sinclair got on every nerve in my body, but quite frankly I wouldn't have had it any other way. Picturing my life without Sinclair was like a fish without water to put it into words.

Damn grateful I was...

He was a wealthy and successful businessman who knew how to play someone like a harp while I was a Pauper's Drop duct-rat that used to have no penny to my name or any form of status.

He wasn't a saint by far. Sinclair had his fingers where they shouldn't belong and smiled in the face of someone else's misfortune if it meant gaining him a profit and would sell paradise if it meant he'd get a fat wad of cash to line his pockets. But for a moment, I could convince myself that he genuinely cared about me and my safety instead of the damage done to his office and the profit he'd be losing. If it wasn't the case, I'd rather not hear it. I would rather believe the lie that he cared just to live in the fantasy a little longer.

If there was a God out there, he definitely delivered Grace Holloway and Augustus Sinclair to me; Grace delivered in a beautiful package with a bow and Sinclair in a package wrapped in newspaper that made the opener think _it's the thought that counts._

My hand found the remote and I flipped on the telly, watching Rapture's news channel to numb my mind.

* * *

My leg ached in its wrap as the nurse finished her wrap job. These trips to the Medical Pavilion were starting to piss me off since my clothes were starting to stink of antiseptic and death, but only because Sinclair insisted did I even step foot in the place to get my cast changed out. I was set to burn every poster of Steinman's Aesthetic Ideals in the middle of the room if I had to stare at it any longer. I was more keen to set Steinman on fire if he asked about my nose one more time; I liked my nose the way it was and he'd have to get over it. I didn't care how much of a master cosmetic surgeon he was, I was not going to stoop as low as most of the women in Rapture who would flock to get their face sliced open by Steinman's scalpel for the look of beauty.

"Well it looks like after a week the injury has healed enough to where you don't need to use crutches anymore. But please be cautious with whatever activity you do, for it may open the injury again and that is not something you'd want," The nurse informed politely filling out a few things on the clipboard. "Thank you for coming, Miss Hawkeye."

Thank god. I was done with the damn crutches for a lifetime. I had almost run into Camille when she was heading for the bathysphere station which I had just come out of. Didn’t know where she was going since I haven’t been able to crawl around the vents in a week.

Things were going interesting between Sinclair and Adler from what I am led to believe. He had informed me of their dinner they had at the Kashmir during the party Cohen was throwing to show off a bit of his new show or something like that. Sinclair had managed to convince her to come eat dinner when him when she was showing some jealousy of Jasmine Jolene, who was pregnant with Ryan's kid (Sinclair laughed when he heard this). Ryan, of course, didn't know about the pregnancy. The gold of the evening: Fontaine had left her alone at the Kashmir to find her own way back to Olympus Heights and she had gone to Sinclair for help. I was ear-raped with the details, but something scared the shit out of me as I was listening to it: Jealousy.

I always thought I wasn't a jealous person, but apparently, this girl getting escorted home by Sinclair struck a nerve that I didn't even know had existed until then.

I exited the examination room with a minor limp – happy to be rid of my crutches – in time to see two splicers going at it over whose ADAM was whose with Electrobolt and the new Telekinesis plasmid. I thought nothing of it until someone shouted, "Miss Adler!" I was in the crowd in an instant, watching the spectacle. The poor woman was on the ground holding her bleeding head from a picture frame projectile. The two splicers were brought under control and dragged away. Someone from Fontaine's marketing was helping Adler to her feet. Gary? Garret? Garris Fisher. "Can you stand?" He asked once he got her upright. She looked around the room trying to focus – I was sure our eyes met once.

Adler's eyes shut from the pain she was in before her knees buckled again. I shook my head and disappeared into the crowd. Up close, she was pretty, thin and all in all the type of woman Sinclair would take notice of.

"Look at what you did to my clinic!" Steinman shouted over the uproar of people trying to get out of the area and out of the doctor's way.

I returned to Sinclair’s office and informed Sinclair of the incident down in the Medical Pavilion. He immediately asked, "Is Miss Camille all right?" It struck a nerve again, but I repressed it.

"She'll be fine."

Sinclair nodded, rubbing his chin in thought. "Very well. Are you up for the vents tomorrow?” He asked and I nodded. “Splendid! I know you don’t like Franky, but I need you to listen in to a little scheme I know he’s up to. Your report of another orphanage got me interested an’ I want to make sure I know if I can capitalize on it. I want you to listen in an’ see what you hear. Go home an’ relax off those painkillers. See ya tomorrow, darlin'," he smiled giving me a wave as I hobbled out. I had failed to tell Sinclair that Camille had the day off tomorrow, but it was no skin off my back.

My apartment was quiet once again; I didn't even have the telly or the radio on. The neighbors had fallen into a silent haze as well so I didn't hear about how Tommy cheated on Suzie or some nonsense they got into fights about. I could blame it on the painkillers coursing through my veins, but in reality, I knew it was about Sinclair.

I propped my injured leg on the arm of my couch and sighed. It was going to be an interesting day tomorrow and I knew Sinclair would drag me along for a sort of security blanket.

My arms crossed over my eyes and let slumber catch up to me so the painkillers could wear off.

* * *

Another Little Sister’s Orphanage was opening up in Hestia since the other was filled to capacity already. Little girls go in, barely any come back out. Boys were accepted as well, but it’s the girls Fontaine wants for his labs. With ADAM on a short tank, Fontaine’s needed a way to keep the ADAM flowing. There was only so many of those slugs around and breeding them seemed to have failed.

I felt lucky that I was too old for the orphanages so no one could grab me and sell me to them. Count the little things in life…

I was a little early to his office than I originally anticipated, sliding into place without any noise to alert the occupants below: Frank Fontaine and his goon outside the door. Larry was nowhere to be seen adding to the idea that I should recruit a few others to do more legwork than I can do.

Watching Fontaine look through his paperwork for an hour was not what I had in mind. I nearly dozed off a few times counting how many sheets of paper he glanced at before stuffing it in a drawer to be forgotten or shredded. Camille had gone off to get some coffee and breakfast for the two at a nearby diner so she wouldn’t be around for a while.

There was a hard knock on the door that woke me up from my dozing. “Come in,” Fontaine answered, waiting for the door to open up.

That big goon Larry stepped inside, making sure to close the door behind. “You were right, boss,” He said, voice low and gravelly. “Jules was fired a week ago. She mentioned a spy working for him and thinks they were involved in getting her fired. Just as you predicted, boss.”

Fontaine frowned and crossed his arms over his chest. I could barely keep myself from swearing. That stupid fucking secretary – I should have ended her when I had the chance. Now Fontaine knew about me because of that bitch and the goon. “Any idea who they are?” Fontaine asked, pulling a cigar from his shirt pocket.

“No, sir. She doesn’t know who they are. Couldn’t even tell if they were a man or woman.”

Fontaine grimaced and gnawed on the end of his cigar. I sighed knowing that they didn’t have any good information on who exactly I was – they just know Sinclair has a spy. But who doesn’t really? Fontaine’s got spies in the Fisheries, but only a few have been smart enough to cover their tracks so Fontaine or anyone for that matter would find out. Then again Ryan had spies in his midst as well.

Sinclair as well, but I was diligent to weed them out – like the secretary (that he has yet to replace) and his former Marketing Director (who’s now sleeping in the Metro Station). And a security guard. And a few of the finance girls. But that’s beside the point.

Fontaine dismissed the bodyguard and lounged back in his chair, puffing on his cigar. I heard a small knock and Camille’s blonde head popping in with the coffee and breakfast. Fontaine wouldn’t discuss something like this with her, under the impression that anyone could be a spy. The girl hasn’t worked for him that long for trust to be formed. He still checked the intercom to see who she was talking to on the phone from time to time.

Fontaine finished his breakfast quick before calling Camille to his side and leaving. I dropped down outside of the Little Sisters Orphanage in Hestia and stayed close enough to hear but far enough to keep suspicion to a low. I stole a newspaper from a nearby trashcan and pretended to be interested in its contents when Fontaine and Camille arrived. Andrew Ryan was going to be swinging by for an inspection and a chat… I say ‘chat’ very loosely.

Looking inside the orphanage, I was amazed at the rows of bunk beds lining the walls and little girls already adorning the walls with crayon drawings of flowers and rainbows. At the end, surrounded by little girls, was Brigid Tenenbaum looking over a clipboard while the girls (and one boy) tried to get her attention. Fontaine whistled catching her off guard.

Brigid Tenenbaum was a bird of a woman, a brilliant scientist who unfortunately got her skills from a German concentration camp during the Holocaust. She was thin and unassuming at first, quiet and patient – perfect qualities of a scientist. She made a name for herself for discovering ADAM and more afterward, but all for Fontaine Futuristics. I could guess she was here for the little girls for her experiments with the ADAM slugs.

“Yes. I have been assessing these new girls,” I overheard Tenenbaum rattle off. “Many of them are healthy – good weight, good height, no sicknesses – but some are small and thin and not good at all. I will take the healthy ones but, Frank, you must build up the other ones, yes? I need all the test subjects I can get. The more, the better.”

“Hey, miss?” I nearly had a heart attack when someone tugged on my sleeve. I glanced down and noticed it was the little boy who had pickpocketed me a few months ago.

He had grown a bit taller now (almost to my shoulder), his blonde hair choppy and in his hazel eyes. He was missing a few teeth, probably fallen out to let his adult teeth grow in. The splash of freckles across his cheeks and nose would make a grown woman want to pinch them, but thankfully for him, I was not one of those motherly women.

“What are you doing here, kid?” I questioned, taking his arm and tugging him away so that Fontaine or someone wouldn’t see me in a light that wasn’t a passerby.

The boy glanced at the ground and shuffled his feet. “My pa dropped me off here. Said I’d be better off. My ma died a few months ago an’ pa an’ I were hungry. He said that I’d be safe here an’ wouldn’t be hungry.” I frowned and bit the inside of my cheek. This kid would only be forgotten in the orphanage since it was the girls they valued.

Sinclair’s words came back to the spy ring. A kid like him who already knows how to pickpocket would work… I smiled down at the kid. “What’s your name, kid?”

He smiled back and answered, “Patrick, miss. Patrick McManus.”

“Irish, eh? Sure this place could give you a decent life, not much of one, but a life, but how about this: You work for me and you could live at my place. I have a spare room that’s only been serving as storage. You get a safe place to sleep and food when you like.”

The boy frowned as well, giving me a suspicious look. “What’s in it for you?” He questioned, crossing his arms.

“You’re smart. Information is my business, but it’s harder for me to get to all the places I need to be. All I want you to do is take an Accu-Vox to the destination I tell you and listen in on the person I need info on. I can also guess you’re smart enough to tell me any observations you may have and pickpocket anything of interest: say a note passed and the like. What do you say, Patrick?”

“Like that reporter guy that hangs out in front of Fontaine’s place?”

“Like him, but unseen and unheard.”

He started to look excited. “Like a spy? Like in _Mr. Standfast_?”

I didn’t want to know where he had read such a book, maybe one of his parents used to read it to him or something. “Do we have a deal?” I asked, holding out my hand.

Ecstatically, he grabbed my hand and shook it. He ran off to collect his belongings and I watched Fontaine and Camille leave the orphanage – Camille watching Andrew Ryan (who had arrived only a few minutes prior) closely while Fontaine purposely ignored the tycoon. Ryan only shook his head at the two and led the group away to another part of the Hestia Chambers.

Patrick came rushing back with a small box filled with his belongings. I jerked my head toward the Metro station as a hint to follow me, which he did. Patrick rambled on about how great it was going to be a spy, asking me all sorts of questions like what ‘gadgets we get’ or if ‘we wear costumes’. I almost could have laughed at his enthusiasm. The boy had just turned 10 apparently and he was very proud of it.


	9. Chapter 9

I staggered out of my room at the sharp shrilling of the phone that was about to be broken for disturbing my sleep. "Sinclair..." I growled tearing the phone off the receiver. "Yes?"

_"Guess what! You're goin’ to be needed today."_

"Because you're going to be walking through Pauper's Drop to the Limbo Room. I know. You told me a few days ago." I twirled the cord around a finger habitually. It was where Stanley had arranged for us to meet. Sinclair had surprised me saying he would take the meeting this time, but I knew he would ask Miss Adler to come.

_"An' the great Hawkeye sees all."_

"I'll go to Pauper's Drop. Try not to get Adler killed," I sighed before setting the phone gingerly on the receiver.

The second bedroom door opened and little Patrick, rubbing his eyes, wandered out. “Who was that, ma’am?”

“Our boss. I’m going to the Limbo Room. Until then,” I reached into a drawer and pulled out and Accu-Vox and a screwdriver. “After school, I need you to listen in on a session of Lamb’s with Mike Novak. The session is scheduled for 3:30, so don’t be late. Sound easy enough?” He nodded excitedly. “If anyone asks what you’re doing, pretend you’re trying to get the speakers to work and that you’re waiting for your dad.” He took the items from me and retreated back into his room.

Sucking up my pride, I cleaned up my bandages and changed them out again and changed into a clean pair of clothes. With one last look in the mirror (noting several more scars decorating my face), I was out the door, leaving some cash on the table for Patrick. It was going to take a bit to get used to him being there…

The familiar hum of the neon of the King Pawn sign was a welcomed relaxation as I scanned over the crowds of workers and the downtrodden. A few even pointed up to me, probably realizing that I was back in my spot again after being out of it for so long. I nearly missed the solitude and the quiet, but then again I was starving to death when I was up here every day and slept in the Grace's dressing room on the floor instead of my bed now.

Looking around this place, despite being damp all the time and covered in dirt and grime, it was home. Like returning to your roots despite how it all started; good or ill. The people were still the same, still the same bitter, overworked, underpaid, often homeless creatures wandering the neighborhood just trying to make ends meet. It was very rare that someone on the bottom rung of society would gain any sort of status enough to get out of Pauper's Drop. The cases of myself and Fitzpatrick were definitely a miracle. I went on to sell my soul to a demon while Fitzpatrick went to dazzle the stage with his natural talent. There were a few splicers around and the injury on my leg burned at the sight of them, but they paid me no mind. It was like this place was my own safety blanket.

My attention was drawn to the new faces that had arrived: Sinclair and Adler. They made a B-line for the Limbo Room, just as Sinclair said. Sinclair gave me a sideways glance before gesturing his head toward the Limbo discretely to avoid any unnecessary attention from Camille. I shook my head and crawled down slowly to avoid agitating my leg which hurt enough as it did.

The welcomed jazz music made the sides of my lips curl just a little. Camille and Sinclair had taken a table with a clear view of the stage. I leaned against the back wall within earshot of the two. "Lemme get you a drink," Sinclair offered, giving her a grin. "Although, I can't promise it'll be any good."

"I don't mind, Mr. Sinclair," She answered, "Some wine would be lovely."

"Done. Sit tight an' I'll be right back." He stood up and made his way towards me. He placed a hand on my shoulder and guided me to the front bar area asking, "Do you have anythin’ good to drink down here?"

I hated to dash his hopes, but I answered, "Mostly bathtub brewed stuff. The wine is shit."

"Not even imports?"

"The people are too poor to afford even the cheapest of imports. Sorry to disappoint."

Sinclair shook his head and said, "Understandable. Not your fault."

He ordered the 'best' wine the Limbo Room sold and returned to where Adler was sitting patiently. The bartender gave me a look and cocked his head toward Sinclair. He rasped, "What's ‘e doin’ down ‘ere?"

"I'm wondering that myself."

"’e never stays down ‘ere for more than an hour. An’ ‘e's normally in his ‘otel, not ‘ere."

"I know." I gave the bartender a nod before moving back into the club and resumed my spot.

"I don't understand, though," Camille said. I must have dropped in the middle of a conversation. "I always thought this place was just a maintenance area. It's so poorly constructed; I don't know why anybody's living here?"

Excuse me?

"Well, nobody was supposed to be livin' down here once the city was finished. Andy Ryan promised that the housin' was only temporary an’ only for the builders," Sinclair tried his best to explain.

"Then why are there people still here? People who _aren't_ workers?"

He shrugged. "When you've been at the bottom long enough, honey, it's hard to start climbin' the ladder. An' to be honest, Andy Ryan doesn't want these slobs in his city. He'd rather they were hidden away down here."

I couldn't believe what I was just hearing. We were nothing but slobs to him? Then what did that make me? He claimed that he cared about me, but would openly voice what he really thought of the people down here even when he knew I was less than 5 feet away? To say I was angry would be an understatement. Livid perhaps. I didn't really care for the people of Pauper's Drop to go out of my way to help them, but I was one of them whether I liked it or not.

"That's a terrible thing to say, Mr. Sinclair." Well, that surprised me. My blood started to cool down.

"It keeps me in business, honey!"

"That's not exactly the response I was looking for, you know." Camille looked a little annoyed with Sinclair at the moment. Glad I'm not the only one.

Sinclair made a non-committal grunt, enjoying as best as he could the last of his cigarette. Sinclair's gaze repeatedly fell on me, silently asking if I had spotted Stanley Poole yet which was met with a shake of my head. Stanley had yet to show hide or hair all night so far. Made me think that he was going to ditch us.

Camille had noticed his gaze and tried to see who he was looking at. I kicked off the wall and moved out of the club to get a something to drink at the bar since my throat felt dry. When I returned with a glass of water, Grace had taken the stage making me smile. She was dressed in a beautiful blue gown with a white scarf loosely draped around her shoulders.

"Why isn't she singing in better establishments?" Camille had asked, stopping me in my tracks. "She's got a fantastic voice!" I glanced up at Grace again. I was glad someone agreed with me, but Ryan would never allow. She sang the blues when Ryan only wants songs that promote Rapture and himself. But now… She was singing songs about Rapture, praising it out of her fear that Ryan would come for her, even when I made sure that would never happen.

"Because Ryan won't have her singin' any o' her depressin' tunes - they won't resonate with a lot of people. He only wants to hear people singin' good things about the city."

As much as Sinclair was right, it didn't feel any better. Grace deserved so much more than this dump. If she was allowed, she could rule Fort Frolic; people flocking to hear her beautiful voice, buying her records and praising her achievements. Instead, she's in this dump singing her broken heart out since no one knows that James is gone nor what happened to him.

They didn't talk about anything else other than Sofia Lamb who had arrived to watch Grace sing. I hadn't met the ice queen in person before, just would notice her when she'd travel around the Drop. She was a genius from what the citizens would spout on about when they'd go to her sessions and every day a new patron would be wearing a butterfly pin; the Blue Morpho. Grace praised the very ground Sofia walked on which made this job a little more difficult to do. Thankfully I wasn't the one collecting info on Sofia, Stanley was.

Speaking of Stanley, he walked past me, the stench of sweat back-handing me across the face. Did the man shower at all? "Ah, Mr. Sinclair," He greeted in his typical shaky tone. "I... I didn't think I'd see you here." Meaning he was expecting me. I guess he didn't know which was worse.

"Well, hello to you too, Stanley," Sinclair greeted, grabbing Camille's hand. "This is Miss Adler. We're just here, enjoyin' the show." He leaned in and said more deliberate, "Jus' seein' how you're gettin' on."

"Real good, Mr. Sinclair, _real good._ " Wrong answer.

"Well, that's jus' dandy. I'm thrilled that _all_ my money is yieldin' results which are _real good_ ," Sinclair snapped. "I got Ryan pullin' at my pants leg like a li'l neglected child so I'm gonna need more than _real good._ Otherwise, I'm sure I can find someone else to do this job for me." If he was insinuating me I was going to hurt him.

"No, Mr. Sinclair, I can do this. I..." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, worn notebook. "I got all this here. It's _gold_. Christ, some of the shit this woman talks about in session... Well, you can read it later." Translation: Hawkeye can read it later.

"And?"

"And _this guy_ just got an invitation to one of her movie screenings in Dionysus Park!" He seemed so proud, someone get him a fucking pony.

Sinclair grinned at the information. "Atta boy, Stanley."

"She told me it's a place where I can think freely and not be chained down by Ryan's politics. All I gotta do is keep wearing this stupid bug badge and I'm in. Too easy!"

"Well, Stanley, you've outdone yourself," Sinclair said, shooting me a look to follow up on it. "Jus' get all you can about those free-thinkin' sessions and I'll be able to throw Andy Ryan a bone."

"Got it," Stanley said getting up and leaving, myself following behind him.

Once we were outside, I grabbed Stanley by the back of his neck and pulled him toward the back alley between the King Pawn sign and an apartment complex. "Sinclair wasn't kidding," I said pushing Stanley into the wall.

"H-Hawkeye?! What a surprise!" He stammered his hands up showing his surrender.

"Lamb goes down soon. Clear?"

"Yeah, yeah, Crystal clear, I hear ya!" He slid along the wall before he had put enough distance between me and him to take off in a sprint.

Suddenly, I felt more like a thug than a duct-rat. I scratched the back of my neck at the notion. Stanley was downright terrified of me, but how many others would be in the long run. Was I just another slob as Sinclair had called us? The insults never bothered me before having been a duct-rat for most of my life in Rapture; the name originating from the upper-class and lower-class alike, but to hear the simple word 'slob' from Sinclair really hit me.

I crawled back up to the King Pawn sign and sat as comfortably as I could. Sinclair and Adler finally emerged from the Limbo Room in a relative silence. Sinclair didn't even shoot me a passing glance, just kept Adler tucked under his arm and escorted her to the train station.

I sniffed in displeasure and relaxed against the neon sign, letting the hum of the electricity sooth away my stress. I checked the time and swore to myself when I noticed it was clear past 4 o’clock. Patrick!

I rushed home as quick as I could, letting out a sigh of relief when I found him sitting outside my door waiting to be let in. He grinned when he saw me, standing up to greet me. “Ma’am! I did as you wanted! Got the tape and everything! No one paid attention to me!” He exclaimed. He startled me by grabbing my hand. “Did I do a good job?”

I nodded once which seemed to appease him. He handed me the Accu-Vox and we both went inside. He rushed to his room saying he had homework and I quickly listened to the recording he took to see if it was good enough to give to Sinclair. It sounded pretty clear, which meant he was pretty close. The kid was smarter than I originally anticipated. “Hey, kid,” I called out.

He rushed out of his room and stood next to me expectantly. “Where were you when you recorded this? It’s almost crystal clear.”

He smiled at that. “Outside a window that she had open,” He answered, a spark of pride coming through.

I ruffled his hair and said, “Good job, kid.” I tucked the spool of tape into the pocket of my trousers. “I’m going to make one more stop and then I’m going to Sinclair’s office. I won’t be home until 7. I need you to do one more thing before I get home.” I pulled a pad and pen from the desk drawer and scrawled a quick note on the sheet of paper. I ripped it away from the binding and handed it to Patrick. “Deliver this to Charles Kempton. He lives in the Sinclair Deluxe, apartment 113. Got it?”  
  
Patrick nodded and pocketed the note.

* * *

I dropped through the air vent in Sinclair's office, muttering a greeting to Sinclair and dropped off the reel Patrick collected and the Accu-Vox reel I stole from Jasmine Jolene where she admitted that she was pregnant and that she sold the egg to Fontaine. What Fontaine would want with Jolene's spawn was a mystery to me, but I was not about to find out either. Learn the wrong thing and one would end up as either another body floating in the ocean or a stain on the floor, wall, and ceiling. I said nothing to him as he took the reels in hand and smiled, congratulating me and Patrick on being able to retrieve them without fuss.

That night at the Limbo Room was still fresh in my mind, a simple burning in the back of my skull. I knew the kind of person I was dealing with when it came to Sinclair, but it still hurt to hear from him that the people of Pauper's Drop, like myself, were nothing but slobs in his eyes. He had said it was Ryan who thought so, but Ryan had more _colorful_ words to describe us with the intellect of a college education behind it.

I gave a nod and turned to leave, but he stopped me. "What's on your mind, Jamie? You've been quiet for a few days now. Patrick all right?"

Of course, Sinclair has noticed my silence. "Patrick’s fine. It’s nothing."

Sinclair stood up and rounded the desk until he was in front of me. "There is somethin'. You're givin' me the silent treatment again. I thought we were past this, Hawkeye. Come on, you can tell me."

I shook my head and jumped up into the vent. I heard him sigh and strike a match to light another cigarette.

It made me realize just how much I had let Sinclair in, even more than Grace. Grace knew my name of course, but I couldn't tell her that I worked for Sinclair because I couldn't trust that she wouldn't voice it to Lamb. I had told Sinclair that Grace was completely off limits showing that I was close to the woman when no one else knew about mine and Grace's relationship aside from James. And the fact that I had mentioned Grace specifically showed I had no one else, not even my mother. I'd like to think that Sofia Lamb doesn't even know about me, but I didn't know what Grace would say during their meetings; my respect for Grace and guilt keeping me from eavesdropping on the jazz singer.

I needed a burger from the Fighting McDonagh's.

It seemed like forever since my last burger there. Sinclair kept me pretty busy and Miss Adler did not stay in one place for long. I actively avoided her when she was in the company of Fontaine, but outside of work, she still did not remain in one place.

I also learned the hard way that Ryan Amusements put security turrets in the maintenance shafts. The air ducts around there did not travel through most of the park for any good advantage points forcing me to purchase my own ticket in. I had never been to Ryan Amusements prior to that day, but I was not impressed by it; especially not the ride Journey to the Surface. A bunch of bullshit if I do say so myself.

But the children seemed to enjoy it regardless if it was more a shrine to Ryan than an amusement park.

The Fighting McDonagh's wasn't full yet since most of its regulars were still at work either in the Fisheries or in Hephaestus. McDonagh was working thankfully and when he saw me come in, he slid an already made burger in front of a seat by the bar. "Missed my burger girl," He commented his Cockney accent as thick as always.

"Thanks..." I muttered taking a seat. The burger was probably the best I ever had and I gave McDonagh praise.

He shook his head and said, "It's not the best. Can't get much without good meat."

"Yes, but let's face it: there's nothing better than a burger made on a grill that didn't start out as a frozen patty."

McDonagh snorted in agreement and went back to talking with another customer.

McDonagh was probably the only person on Ryan's council that I respected. He was an older man with a thick mustache and trimmed beard, his eyes a shade of brown and the hair on his head streaked with gray. He was dressed in a simple work shirt, dark pants with overall straps going over his shoulders. His blue tie was loosened up from working all day, but it didn't do much to affect his look of strength. When he wasn't running the Fighting McDonagh's Tavern, he was working maintenance around Rapture which surprised people since he was a member of the council. One would think that he'd get someone to do the work for him.

I guess he still liked to do an honest day’s work before going home to the wife. Unfortunately, he didn't since she died a few years after coming to Rapture of lung cancer. That was all anyone really had known about his wife that he was willing to say; probably too painful which was understandable.

He seemed to be Ryan's conscience when it came to decisions in the city and is probably the only one who realized the amount of unrest the poor population of Rapture has. If my information was correct, he was the one who convinced Ryan to agree to the series of debates with Sofia Lamb.

I finished my burger, ordered another for Patrick and left the exact total for my bill and a little more for a tip. McDonagh nodded his head as I said, "I'll be back, McDonagh." I picked up the styrofoam container of food and left.

The train ride back to Apollo Square from Neptune's Bounty was quiet; no one else in the car I was on. The train temporarily stopped at Pauper's Drop and surprisingly, Sofia Lamb stepped aboard. My breath hitched in my throat at her height; she was a good 182 cm tall compared to my meager 162 cm. She sat down in a seat across from me and rested her satchel on her lap.

I did not look at her out of the corner of my eye thankfully. I hoped she wouldn't recognize me from the Limbo Room.

Lady Luck would not be that merciful.

The train kicked into motion while the conductor announced, "Next stop: Apollo Square."

Lamb glanced over at me and cocked her head to the side. "You are Grace's friend." It wasn't a question, which was what I was afraid of.

"How would you know that?"

Sofia gave me a warm smile. "Grace speaks often of you, very fondly I might add. She also carries a picture of you with her. She describes you as a child she never had. I'm sure you are aware of what occurred to her husband James?"

"Yeah. I know."

"Thank you for going to see her on the matter." I nodded and looked forward, trying to end the conversation. "Perhaps you could indulge me for a moment," She started. "Grace says that you have recently taken up work. Perhaps you might tell me who you work for? Grace was worried about you and your work since you seem to be getting injured."

"Sorry, but if Grace has told you anything it's I don't talk to shrinks."

Sofia hummed in understanding. "She mentioned you are not one who trusts easily, much less a doctor like me. I just wish to ease her fears." More like not trusting the woman brainwashing almost all of Pauper's Drop, Grace included, with her ideals. "In any matter, perhaps you could come with Grace to Dionysus Park. It is a retreat I have established, free of Andrew Ryan's politics and oppression," Sofia handed me a flyer explaining everything about it.

"No thanks." I handed the flyer back to her and kept my gaze focused on what was outside of the train car.

The train finally pulled into the station in Apollo Square and I swiftly got to my feet. Much to my dismay, Lamb stood as well following me out the open doorway. I ignored her mostly, taking note that she was following me to the Artemis Suites. As I walked up the stairs, I exhaled in relief when Sofia Lamb stopped to talk to a client of hers.

I was in my apartment quicker than ever, slamming the door behind me which startled Patrick. I pressed my back against the door and slid down to the ground, letting out a puff of air.

Now I can say I've met Sofia Lamb face to face. Something I never want to do again. Sofia Lamb may have made Grace happy, but that didn't mean I enjoyed her presence in the least. Her height contributed to that fact. The woman definitely made one think they should get on their knees and pray while she spoke, something I was not too keen on doing.

Patrick rushed over to me and kneeled next to me. “You alright, ma’am?”

I nodded and sighed. “Just a run-in with Dr. Sofia Lamb.”

Patrick frowned at the name. “My pa used to see her… Was the reason I was dropped at the orphanage. Pa wanted to be a part’f the Family.”

I pushed myself to my feet and handed the styrofoam box to the boy. “Dinner,” I said plainly.

He said a quick thank you and plopped himself down in front of the telly, watching whatever animated show was playing.

I sat on the couch and watched it for a little while before I disappeared into my bedroom to get ready for some sort of sleep. I stripped off my blue shirt and black trousers before slipping on a light blue nightgown. I jumped when I heard a knock at my door and prayed silently that it wasn't Sofia. “Patrick, get the door!” I called out. When I heard him get up from the floor, I slipped my robe on and walked carefully to the door trying to avoid making any sort of noise.

Patrick opened the door and greeted, “Hello, Mr. Sinclair!”

I was thankful it wasn't Sofia Lamb, but not too relieved when I noticed it was Augustus Sinclair. The man never learned! “Heya, sport! Miss Donovan home?”

“Yessir, come in!” Patrick stepped out of the way for Sinclair.

Sinclair stepped inside and quickly noticed my glare. "I know! I know! I heard your speech before," He said with his hands raised in surrender.

"So, why are you here?" I asked. "You didn't send any surprises in the mail."

"I know. I came because somethin' is botherin' you and I want to know what is botherin' my favorite asset."

My eyebrow rose at the statement. I glanced down at Patrick and said, “Go to your room.”

“But I want to talk to Mr. Sinclair!”  
  
Sinclair patted the boy on the head and ruffled his blonde hair. The only feature keeping people from calling him my son. “We’ll chat some other time, sport. For now, I need to talk to your caretaker. Head off to bed now.” Patrick’s bottom lip stuck out in a pout but reluctantly went into his room.

I shook my head and gestured to my couch for him to sit. "Want something to drink?" I asked.

He took a seat on the couch and said, "None. I asked you a question, Jamie."

I sighed and sat down on the couch beside him. "Fine. I can't seem to get what you called the people of Pauper's Drop off my mind. Are we just slobs to you?"

Sinclair groaned and smacked his forehead. "I curse my wordin' now. Jamie, I am so sorry. I didn't mean to say it, it just came out."

"But is that what you really think of us? Of me? Of Patrick?"

Sinclair placed his hands on my shoulders and turned me to face him. "Jamie, I didn't mean a single word I said. If it wasn't for the Drop, I wouldn't have found you. If I wouldn't have found you, my business wouldn't be doin' as well as it is." He nudged my chin with his finger. "I'm sorry, Jamie. Would you find it in your heart to forgive me?" I looked away and leaned back against the couch. "There's something more, isn't there?"

It was now or never. I didn't have a problem with Miss Adler, but I had a problem with Sinclair's attention to her. "I also have a problem with you sending me to spy on one woman. A woman that you talk to enough on your own. Hell, you went to that carnival with her."

A sparkle made its way into his emerald green eyes. Sinclair let out a laugh and exclaimed, "Jealousy! That's what's been botherin' you?"

I flinched away from him. "I never said it was jealousy!"

"But you're implyin' it. Darlin', what are you jealous of? Miss Camille is just a friend who needs a shoulder to cry on about Fontaine."

"Then why are you having me watch her?"

Sinclair smiled and reclined back against the couch. "Because she's someone to watch. She has access to all of Fontaine's secrets an' business deals. All it'll take is one moment to get her to work for me an' with it: Fontaine's secrets. Any moment of weakness on her part an' gives me another foothold in her life."

"And you want me to figure out those exact moments."

"Exactly. That's the smart Hawkeye I know." He wrapped his arm around my shoulders and pulled me into a sort of comforting hug. "Glad to know that you do have a heart in there. Am I forgiven?"

I rolled my eyes before nodding. He drew me in for a tight squeeze; he smelled like expensive cologne and I didn't find the smell at all repulsive. It was spicy, but sweet and there was something distinctly Sinclair mixed in that made it pleasant.

"Why don't you take the day off tomorrow. You've been workin' hard for 2 years now. I think a break is deserved. Take Patrick to the carnival or something," He suggested, to which I nodded again. He chuckled again. “Are you sure this boy is your employee or your son?”

I gave him a glare. “He’s _not_ my son. Sure, I care about the kid, but that’s because he’s a kid. I’m only keeping him on the blackmail jobs and minor pickpocketing.”

Sinclair raised an eyebrow at me, the smile never leaving. “The way I’ve been seeing it, you’ve been acting motherly to him. Sure your ‘maternal instinct’ hasn’t kicked in?”  
  
“I think it’s time for you to leave.”

He stood and took his leave, bidding me a good night.

Sleep came a lot easier then.

I awoke the next morning and started my morning routine: shower, dressed comfortably in a white work shirt again with my dark brown trousers, breakfast with Patrick, brush teeth and pulled my dark hair into a low ponytail. Sinclair didn't have any jobs for me today which was welcomed, but also despised since I had no idea what to do with myself now. I even walked Patrick to school.

Spending several hours cleaning the apartment top to bottom did little to appease the boredom that clamped down on my mind. Reading one of the books from the bookshelf did not hold my attention for long either. Sinclair gave me the day off, but I was about to drive myself crazy with think of something to do. Rapture Television was never good so the telly was out of the question. There seemed to be only one place I could sit for long periods of time without feeling at all bored.

I locked the apartment door behind me and made my way to the train station.

The King Pawn sign did its magic as I settled into my spot. Strange how this place became a comfort when it used to be the only place that I could find that if I fell asleep by accident I wouldn't find a shiv in my belly when I woke up... If I woke up at all. It seemed to be the only place I can even stop and smell the roses as the phrase goes. Between Sinclair and Miss Adler, I couldn't get a moment to rest; it felt like forever since I just sat down.

My smile dropped when I noticed Sullivan and a few of his boys stalk around below.

Lord knows what he was up to now. I jumped down and followed him; for Sullivan to be in Pauper's Drop did not bode well for me. He disappeared into a rundown apartment complex with his boys following close behind him.

They emerged a few minutes later dragging a young boy named Timmy Hoster with them as he kicked and screamed for them to release him. "Now the eggs are in the scramble," Sullivan said into an Accu-Vox. "We picked up Timmy H right after midnight. Either Ryan will be takin' down Fontaine or Fontaine will be takin' down Ryan. We'll be... _interviewing_ poor Timmy near Fontaine Fisheries. If you're up for entertainment, the code is 5380."

They were starting to truly crack down on Fontaine and his smugglers. Figured Ryan would go after Fontaine. The case against Lamb was coming to a close from what Poole was reporting in, so that meant he was going after bigger fish to fry.

Lamb's days were numbered.


	10. Chapter 10

_1956_

Lamb was finally arrested, leaving a trail of upset followers in her wake.

Stanley Poole had pulled through with enough evidence (with the help of a newly employed Charles Kempton) to take her out and Sinclair sent in the Rapture Police. Her office was torn apart and torn down leaving nothing behind of Lamb.

But Lamb went without a fuss. There was no last stand amongst her little flock, no screaming indignities at the arresting officers, and no claims of innocence. She allowed the officers to walk into her office to which she calmly rose to her feet and allowed them to put her hands behind her back. She left her office with her head held high, only nodding to a few of her followers who seemed to be crying at her departure. Her movements like that of a messiah, which was how these people saw her.

It was no surprise that she knew that Ryan's boys were coming for her since some of her flock was among Ryan’s boys. She prepared for it, prepared her followers mentally for it so that they wouldn't try and gut security when they arrived on scene. She even prepared her daughter Eleanor Lamb. Eleanor was now being taken care of by Grace Holloway which made going to visit her difficult. I avoided it as much as I could since Eleanor called me a 'dog-eater' the first time we met.

She was a charming, smart little girl regardless of our first meeting. Way too smart for someone her age, but I figured it had something to do with Lamb's isolation of the child. I knew she had escaped a few times to see some of the other kids behind her mother's back, which resulted in a few upgraded security systems to keep her in, but that smart little girl figured out how to get past them only messing up the first time she tried it all at the age of 6. And then her mother was arrested, couldn't imagine what that'd be like for a young girl like her.

Camille Adler, though, was what made it almost entertaining. She went to Pauper's Drop to Lamb's no-longer-there office and stared shocked at the barricaded door. When she growled under her breath _Sinclair_ , I was in the vents quick heading to Sinclair's office.

I dropped through and informed before Sinclair could get out a greeting, "Miss Camille is coming up here to tear you a new ass hole. Just thought I'd let you know to prepare the lube."

Sinclair gave me a look of confusion. "And why might she be doing that?" He questioned, tapping his cigarette on his ashtray.

"You know Camille's gone to see Lamb. And now Lamb's gone. She's eavesdropped on your conversation with Ryan about Lamb and that meeting with Stanley and has obviously connected you two going to the Limbo Room to spying on Lamb. Do the math, Augustus." I crossed my arms and smirked. "If _I_ do the math correctly, she's already hit the lobby, and Fred is out cold so she got past him easily."

Sinclair nodded and glanced at the clock. "I guess I'm going to have company. You know the drill, Hawkeye."

"Out of sight, out of mind. Need me to listen in?"

"Nah, I think I got this. Besides, you have to find Rupert Grinchaw. He's been skipping out on payments to my law firm. Say hi to Patrick for me." I nodded and jumped up into the vent just as Camille opened the door without knocking. A little too close there.

I stuffed my hands in my pockets when I arrived in Siren Alley, still sparse of people despite how late it was.

Rupert Grinchaw was a regular client at the Pink Pearl if my info was correct, so now it was just a matter of catching him when he went in. The Pink Pearl smelled of heavy perfume to cover up the stench of poor hygiene that was eye-watering at most times. Despite the pretty foyer with a support beam wrapped in vines and covered in flowers, it still wasn't the most kept place in the world. It was either this place or Eve's Garden for expensive girls that no one could afford. The Pink Pearl also seemed to be a middle ground since Fontaine had a small prostitution ring operating out of Neptune's Bounty which was his source for information. Don't want to fuck with Fontaine? Don't fuck the girls.

Sinclair had better be damn grateful that I worked how I did since the betties in that ring could barely remember the Johns' names half the time.

Rupert arrived almost on schedule and nodded his head to the man running the front desk. Rupert slapped a small wad of bills on the counter and smiled a yellowed, toothy grin. "Here for Donovan again?" The man asked taking Rupert's money and counting it out.

Donovan? If he meant Dusky Donovan...

Rupert grinned bigger. "Yeah, ol' Dusky's the best lay here. See ya, Georgie!" He skipped off toward the stairs.

Dusky Donovan. Guess I now knew my mother was alive still. I didn't care to know before since she was basically dead to me, but now I was curious to see how my mother turned out after not seeing her in years.

I crawled further into the vents and dropped down on a walkway leading to the bulk of the rooms. It was loud with the sounds of talking, screaming, moaning and calls of pleasure that almost made me sick. Almost. Rupert passed by me and entered a room with a loud, "Greetings, Dusky!" He closed the door behind him. I gripped the door handle and gave it a twist, but discovered it was locked. Not too keen on seeing my mother have sex with Rupert, I left for a few hours, distracting myself with a meal in the Mermaid Lounge.

The burger tasted like cardboard, but then again I was pretty sure McDonagh had killed pretty much every burger for me in Rapture. I almost felt like I was cheating on him with eating another man's burger, but digressed since I didn't want to go far from the Pearl. Although, if McDonagh heard me say that I'm sure it'd bring a smile to his otherwise gloomy demeanor after dealing with Ryan.

A quick shakedown of Rupert later once he left the Pearl, I entered the Pearl again ignoring the man at the desk who probably thought I was a girl looking for work. I could never drop myself down to these women's level of desperate. Even though I was starving, I still had standards; standards that got me the attention of Augustus Sinclair, esquire.

The room I saw Rupert enter still had the lights on, meaning Dusky was still inside. I opened the door and found her pulling her clothes back on and fixing the purple sheets and blankets on the bed. She was getting the room ready for the next customer. The room itself held a bed obviously, a table with a record player sitting on it crooning out the Andrew Sisters, and a dresser not far from the edge of the bed containing any clothes Dusky might change in to for the Johns' various kinks. The walls were pink. The Pink Pearl with pink walls – how original.

"Never thought I'd see you like this," I snorted making her spin around.

Her cheeks were more sullen than I had remembered, bringing her boney cheekbones out more. Her once neat brown wavy hair was flat and contained streaks of gray that was pathetically covered up by hair dye. Her eyebrows were overly plucked and her lips were a shade of ugly red from her lipstick. She looked more like a skeleton that a person and I could guess underneath all the makeup was something straight out of a tanner’s shop.

She sneered at me and said, "You're not my next John! Who are you?"

I shook my head. This woman didn't even recognize me even though I recognized her despite the obvious changes in her physique. "Forget the face or your own daughter?" I questioned bluntly.

Dusky staggered back from me like I had punched her. "You... You're still alive?" She questioned staring me down.

"Yep. Overheard your little Rupert mention you. I thought to myself, _no way it could be her. My mother's still kicking after all these years?_ And much to my surprise, here you are: still spreading your legs for anyone who'll pay." One could say I was being harsh to her, but I felt entitled when someone like her just abandons her child to fuck men for a living.

I noticed the track marks running up and down her arms: she was a drug addict. Cocaine more than likely since her nose was raw and red.

"Don't you _judge_ _me_ ," She hissed, pointing a bony finger in my face. The nail polish was chipped and cracked and an ugly shade of pink. "I gave birth to you, brat. I am your mother!"

"Yeah… A mother who then abandons her child, leaving her to starve to death without so much as a goodbye. What kind of mother does that?"

"I had to work-"

"Work? You never came home. When you did you were passed out drunk. 12-years-old and having to drag your unconscious mother out of the hallway and to the couch. What do I get in return? Smacked around when I tell you we're out of aspirin for your hangover. Mother of the year right there!"

"I made you who you are today!" Dusky argued taking a threatening step towards me.

I stepped up to her until I was in her face. "Made me who I am? No, mother, I made myself who I am. If anything, Grace made me who I am today. She took care of me when you weren't there. I don't even know why I came here." I threw my hands up and moved to the door. "What child would want to see their whore of a mother anyway?"

She grabbed my arm, spun me around and slapped me right across the face. It didn't hurt in the slightest. It was like a pat on the cheek compared to the injuries I've dealt with. "Goodbye, mother. Hope you enjoy your stay in Rapture. I have work to do. _Real_ work," I growled slamming the door in her face.

The door opened up again and she was on my tail screaming obscenities in my direction. I finally spun around and slugged her, busting her bottom lip open. I grabbed the railing and lept over the side, landing in a crouch on the ground floor.

Once I was out in Siren Alley again I walked calmly to a nearby couch before I sunk down on it and choked back a sob.

I may not have liked her, but she was still my mother and it greatly tore me in half to see her like that: a whore who would sleep with the likes of people like Rupert Grinchaw just for a quick buck for drugs and ADAM. I couldn't tell if she was needling since Daniel Wales had a strict rule that his girls couldn't splice. Not like the women didn't have any more problems with them to add ADAM addiction to it. He did it himself of course, but what's good for the gander, gets the goose thrown off the Drop.

I don't necessarily remember a happy time with my mother since most of it was spent bitching about my father who left to fight in World War II and was killed in action during a bombing raid Germany had done on England where we lived. She blamed that he left because he didn't want to deal with a child like me, but I already knew he left because he was patriotic and wanted do his part to end the war which made him a bloody hero in my book. He had joined up right before the fucking Blitz after he had lost contact with his grandparents and heard about the death camps. My father was Jewish, my mother wasn't.

If I had still lived with my mother's grandparents, I probably would still have the Welsh accent, but years of living in Rapture had more or less covered it up. It mostly came out when I was seething mad, but even then it wasn't very noticeable.

I missed my father, even though I can't remember his face since I was young when he left to fight in the war.

I let out a shaky breath and got to my feet again. I had to report back to Sinclair.

When I dropped into Sinclair's office, Camille was long gone and he was making himself busy by sorting through paperwork for the Sinclair Solutions. "Rupert's going to pay his fees now," I said leaning against his desk.

Sinclair looked up and pointed out, "You took longer than I thought you would. What happened?"

I sighed and turned my back to him. "I saw my mother."

"Your mother?"

"At the Pink Pearl. Rupert was a customer of hers."

Sinclair stood up from his desk. He came around and leaned against the desk next to me, a comforting hand on my shoulder. "That couldn't have been easy."

"It was easy walking in. Not easy watching her try and defend herself. Try and give meaning to the things she's done."

"So, there wasn't any touchin' family reunion?"

I shook my head. "No there wasn't any touching family reunion. More along the lines of a Mexican standoff. But who cares? She's gone her self-destructive way and I'm here."

Sinclair gave me a smile and patted my shoulder.

That meeting with my mother made me realize what exactly I had: I had Grace's motherly affection, I had a job with Sinclair who was turning into a weird form of a friend. A friend... Something I thought I'd never have. Huh, I guess Sinclair has become a friend over the years I've known him, despite everything. With Lamb out of the way, I no longer had to deal with Stanley Poole which I was thankful for: the man smelled horribly of body odor half the time and reminded me of a rat I'd encounter in the air ducts.

As long as he kept his mouth shut about Sinclair or about me, I wouldn't have to associate myself with him for a long time.

* * *

 

I walked up the stairs to my apartment, feeling heavier than usual. Questions bounced around in my mind: _Why did I deserve this? Why did my mother even give birth to me? Why was she such a horrible person?_ All things that had no answers.

Before my hand touched the doorknob, the door swung open and a frantic Patrick stood there, eyes wider than a plate. “Ma’am, there’s this woman… S-She claims to be your ma. She won’t leave!” He exclaimed.

“Shite!” I swore, hustling into the apartment. Sure enough, my mother was going through my things probably looking for anything of value that could be sold if she managed to get them out of my apartment. “What the _hell_ do you think you’re doin’?” I had to hold myself back from screaming. I snatched a silver candelabrum from her and shoved her away from my cabinet. Curse Sinclair and his need to make things decorative. “Get out!” I shouted.

I noticed Patrick rush into his room to keep away from the whore standing in my sitting room. Poor kid shouldn’t have to see this or hear it. She sneered at me like there was something wrong with _me_. “I come to see you an’ this is how you treat me?” She smelled heavily like a chimney and her breath smelled like a brewery – it nearly made my eyes water.

“Came to _see me_? More like you’re here to steal my things for more cash for your drug habit an’ go back to the Pearl to spread your legs for any bastard blind enough to fuck you for what’s in his wallet.”

The pitiful hurt look on my mother’s face nearly made me vomit. “I’m sorry, baby,” She whined.

Jesus, she was nearly 45 and this was how she was acting? Did she think I was going to fall for this? Maybe she was genuine, but the years of abuse weren’t going to be fixed by a sorry.

“Sorry? Is that all you have to say is fuckin’ _sorry_? You _broke_ a wine bottle across my _face_! And then got pissed because I got _blood_ on the carpet which wrecked the security deposit. I have this scar…” I gestured to the long scar that ran from my lip along my jawline – a good 13 centimeters, “…from you because you wouldn’t let me get stitches!”

“You were being a brat,” She retaliated, sitting on my couch which only served to piss me off more.

“How in the fuck did you even find me here?” I demanded, ready to kill whoever told her.

She waved a hand nonchalantly like it was common knowledge. “I asked that Grace person.” I felt betrayed, but depending what lies my mother spun Grace would have thought she was helping mother and daughter reconcile. I was in no mood for some family therapy bullshit. I had cut this person out of my life and now she was trying to claw her way back in to fester like a tumor and rob me blind.

“Get out, whore. You’re not my mother. Not anymore,” I growled, grabbing her arm and jerking her off the seat.

“How _dare_ you!” She screamed ripping her arm out of my grasp. “I come here to reconcile with my beautiful daughter and she just throws me out. How selfish-”

I shook my head and said, “You don’t get to ‘old that on me. This is because of you. 13 years of it until _finally_ was free from you! Sure I was starvin’, but I could finally stop bein’ hurt by the woman who was supposed to be my mother, not hold those moments against me like I owe you something. I was a _kid_! Now I’m doin’ well for myself and you decide to _come back_ an’ try to spin your little fantasy around so that _I’m_ the bad guy. Well, that’s not how this works. Get. Out. Of. My. Home.”

There was that pitiful excuse for sorrow again, like a child who got caught and was in huge trouble. “Maybe you could loan me some money-“

“Did I fuckin’ stutter? I said get out!” I finally had enough of this and grabbed her by the arm again. I threw her out the door and slammed the door shut behind her.

I heard her shout through the door, “Ungrateful bitch!” Thankfully she walked off to the staircase.

I didn’t move for a while, just glaring at the door like it had offended me. How dare my _mother_ come around thinking she could ‘reconcile’ and then ask me for money. I glanced down at a vase sitting on the table right next to the door. Without a second thought, I picked it up and hurled it into the wall behind me and it definitely made me feel better.

“Are you all right, ma’am?” Patrick asked, stepping carefully out of his room.

I nodded and gestured for him to come closer. “Sorry you had to hear all that, kid,” I apologized, pulling him into a hug. I could tell the kid was a little scared but I wasn’t sure of whom: me or Dusky or the situation in general, but I wasn’t going to ask.

“I’m sorry your ma is like that.” I let out a chuckle at that.

“If she comes around again, feel free to stab her with something.”

“Yes, ma’am.”


	11. Chapter 11

I held out my arm impatiently as Dr. Gilbert Alexander carefully slid a needle into my arm. I wasn't a fan of needles and it took a bit of bribery on Sinclair's part to get me to willingly sit and let some quack doctor stick needles in me - the deal being he would be taking Patrick to school on Mondays for the sole reason of people seeing Sinclair with a young boy and causing more gossip that he has a 'secret son'. He called me cruel. I just laughed.

Delicately, Alexander inserted a blood collection tube into the bottom. It was a little unnerving seeing my blood spill into the little vial... I really don't like needles.

Finally, it was done and a cotton ball was placed over the puncture mark. "I shall encode the DNA to your systems within a few days, Mr. Sinclair," Alexander stated, labeling the vial and setting it with others.

"Much appreciated, Gil. An' remember our discussion 'bout discretion." Alexander bobbed his head much like a chicken, leaving us in favor of examining a new batch of ADAM slugs brought in from the Fisheries.

Probably not his first time dealing with things of this nature since he does have a contract with Fontaine Futuristics... Implanting slugs into the stomach lining of young girls and figuring out how to keep them safe. Many of Sinclair's prisoners were sent to Fontaine Futuristics but very few ever came back. I'd have to get Kempton into those labs somehow. Break something so he has to go fix it or something. I'd do it myself, but the vents were few and far between and not in key areas. The vents in the lab ran on their own station since it kept the environments sterile, but that meant I'd have to leave Rapture's main air ducts to enter the lab's secluded ones. I could not risk getting caught, especially getting caught wandering the labs. I'd probably end up as the next science experiment to keep me quiet.

I followed Sinclair out of Alexander's lab to the bathysphere station where is private submersible was waiting. "So, what's the plan for today?" Sinclair asked, repeatedly flicking open and closing his gold lighter out of habit since he can't smoke in the bathyspheres. CO2 scrubbers couldn't work that fast.

"Once we're done here, I'm heading over to the Hestia Chambers. Meeting Kempton there."

Sinclair grinned. "Sound's like a plan. Tell Kempton I say hello." I slipped away, leaving the nosy lab technicians and assistants behind in favor of the ventilation shafts.

Charles was already waiting for me when I arrived in the Hestia Chambers. He looked like he just crawled out of a furnace all while casually sipping at a cup of water from his thermos. He glanced over his shoulder at me approaching and smiled. "Bout time you showed up."

"I was only able to get out about 10 minutes ago." I sniffed at the smell coming from him. "You smell like burning gasoline."

He shrugged. "The generator broke down at the Adonis again. You'd like it when the lights randomly go out there. Hearing those pompous guys squeal." Good enough reason. Charles stuffed his hands into his pockets. "So, I've been wondering about that girl you're forced to follow around - Adler? I saw her swimming there while fixing the generator. What's she like? Is she single?"

I gave him a warning look. "Don't even go there."

He laughed. "Okay, okay, I get your point. Guy's gotta try, y'know?" He stepped out of the way of a couple of workers from Hephaestus, all headed to Fontaine's Home for the Poor.

Fontaine's Home for the Poor - that was the newest thing in Rapture. Reality: It was a damn recruitment line. Fontaine gives them a blanket and a bowl of soup and they give him their lives. Who needs an army when Fontaine had his poor house? Those poor people. They came down here thinking they were going to be Captains of Industry, but putting them to work on building Rapture, it filled up without warning with the scientific and artistic prodigies of the modern age and soon men like Sinclair and Fontaine prayed on them; giving them a few luxuries to lure them in to their businesses. The only differences between Sinclair and Fontaine were the use of a smile and how they went about luring them in. Fontaine was smart with giving them food. Sinclair was smart for giving them affordable housing, banking in the rest of the alcohol and plasmids that his companies made.

"Fontaine's really been upping his grip on property - buildings, plasmids  _and_  people. I saw a couple of my co-workers going in. But that's not even the good stuff: Fontaine's bringing guns down here, all packed in those crates with the black handprint stamped on them. The boys in the fisheries are all skittish about being caught since Sullivan's been working them over. Like that Timmy kid who was snatched. I think he's still hanging in the lower wharf, his corpse  _still_  being electrocuted."

"Yeah, he's still there. I thought there were just bibles and other contraband. Guns?" He nodded. "Jesus... Like it isn't already bad enough."

I vaguely contemplated getting myself a few plasmids, in case of an emergency like Electrobolt, but the threat of ADAM addiction was too great. I didn't want to end up like those Splicers that had sprung up more than before. "Not only is Sullivan upping the... ahem...  _interrogations_ but Fontaine's cracking down on squealers. I heard a young kid named Sammy learned the hard way not to fuck with Fontaine."

I shook my head. People were dropping like flies. I stuffed my hands into my pockets, mimicking Kempton. "Tread carefully and don't ask too many questions from here on out. Only let the people you talk to bring up any information."

He looked amused. "You make it seem like I don't cover my tracks."

"You're more useful to me alive, so I'd rather keep it that way."

"I always forget how cold you are."

"What you call cold is what I call staying alive." I left him with that and walked away, leaving the rest to him.

* * *

_January 1957_

* * *

Sinclair had convinced me as well to snoop around the Fat Cat Lounge during a small party going on for so-and-so's birthday. I knew Miss Adler was going to be there since it was her 2 year anniversary for working with Fontaine and he was celebrating his grand opening of the Power to the People stations around Rapture. But whatever his reasons, I was dressed in a simple black cocktail dress that Sinclair had recently purchased for me, concealer covering up the little scars on my face, sipping a glass of champagne that I had no idea how to pronounce the name to. I just pointed to the lady next to me and said, "I'll have what she's having." Maybe I should take a little time and figure out the names of the alcohol and mixers served around Rapture; I seem to be getting more and more involved with the nightclub scene.

Again, I blamed Sinclair.

Diane McClintock and Andrew Ryan were there as well, Diane clinging hopelessly to Andrew's sleeve while he looked about as entertained as watching the grass grow. A new diamond ring was on her finger, meaning Ryan had more or less proposed to Diane, but to me, it seemed more out of wanting to shut the woman up than out of love or want to spend the rest of every waking moment with the woman. With someone like Jasmine Jolene in the mix, I almost pitied Diane. Compared to Jasmine Jolene, Diane was plain as a pole. She had her curly blonde hair wrapped up in a bun for the party, her eyebrows cleanly waxed and plucked to perfection and her lips were a perfect shade of red, but it did little to attract Ryan's attention long enough to even fake a look of admiration. Jasmine Jolene was exotic, young and attractive, downright seductive.

I noticed Miss Adler dance with a few of Fontaine's executors. She looked like she was having fun, laughing and smiling at whoever she was dancing, but then again maybe she had snorted a line of coke to get her this way; the more likely scenario. I never judged her for it: working for Fontaine probably was a viable excuse to snort coke. I probably would be too if I worked with the Boogyman. I got the lesser of two evils, I guess, working with Sinclair, but it wasn't much better. Conditions were probably better, but I digress: I knew how Fontaine was treating her now after she grew a pair of balls and stood up to him for treating her like nothing.

The song ended and she brushed past a few of the executors and disappeared into the private room Fontaine had booked out for the evening.

Fontaine appeared in my line of sight with a woman in a glittering dress on his arm and I almost grinned in delight. It was obvious Adler had a little office infatuation with Fontaine and it displeased her to see him with other women, but I also knew she'd do little to voice her annoyance. Adler appeared in the doorway almost on cue and weaved her way toward the exit. She asked the woman at the coat check for her jacket and waited patiently for her to return.

Sullivan, the rat bastard, pushed his way through the crowd toward Adler and I almost groaned. If shit hit the fan, I knew exactly what Sinclair would expect me to do: Get Adler out with little to no damage. Please don't do anything stupid, Adler. "Miss Adler?" He asked, his voice loud to compensate for the music.

"Yes," She replied, eying him carefully with occasional glances over his shoulder to see if anyone was spying on them. Wrong direction, but I give her points for looking.

"My name's Sullivan-"

"I know who you are."

He chuckled at the bite in her tone, smoothing his receding hairline back. "Then you know why I'm talking to you."

"I have an idea. Although, I don't know what you expect me to do."

"You're the closest person we have to Frank Fontaine right now. Everybody else, well they're either too scared to talk or..."

"Or they're dead." Points for bluntness. Deduction for using the word 'dead'.

"Or that," Sullivan agreed. He waved her in closer and spoke lower, making it near impossible to hear. I couldn't move from my position or I'd give myself away to Miss Adler who would suspect something or she'd think I'm Fontaine's employee, which either case I did not want to happen.

"I don't enjoy having my time wasted, Mr. Sullivan," Camille snapped. The sense of panic came out more than impatience which I didn't blame her for: Fontaine was not the forgiving type of person and to discover his secretary talking with Ryan's Head of Security did not bode well for her.

"I'll give it to you straight then: we need something on Fontaine. Something.  _Anything_. Hard evidence that'll have him put away. We know he's up to nefarious things but we're havin' a had time pinnin' him down. He always got his hands clean, y'know?" He pulled a business card out of his pocket and handed it to her. "Please. Speak up. You could help a  _lot_  of people."

I shook my head, realizing that Camille would never turn against Fontaine even if Sullivan asked nicely and looked like Adonis. I kicked off the wall and made my way over to the bar to drop off my half-empty glass of champagne. It was almost 1 in the morning and I wanted to sleep. I left shortly after Fontaine and Camille did with Fontaine's bodyguards in tow.

I unlocked my door to my apartment and shut it behind me, quickly locking it once again. I sat comfortably on the bed and kicked off my heels, rubbing my aching feet as they begged for freedom from the little monstrosities. My feet were not built for heels, that I was adamant about, but Sinclair insisted I had to wear them in order to blend in with the upper class. As much as he was right, I still hated the little buggers.

I was in bed quick, enjoying a dreamless sleep before I had to get up in 5 hours to Sinclair's beck and call.

* * *

My hand slammed on the snooze button of my alarm as it shrilled painfully in my ear. Why I had the blasted thing, I'll never know. Dragging myself out of bed, I got ready to send Patrick off to school and then head to Sinclair's office for another list of people to watch. I didn't  _have_ to get up as early as I did, but it felt routine since I was almost always gone from the Limbo Room before opening or else I'd have to face Martin, the owner. Did that once and I never wanted to do that ever again.

Patrick left the apartment with his usual, "See you after school, Miss Donovan!" I followed shortly after.

I slowed my walk as I gazed at the newest bodies dancing the the hangman's jig upon the gallows, each with a piece of wood strung around their neck that read "PARASITE". Must've happened last night since I didn't hear a damn thing. I knew Ryan was nuts, but for stringing people up for running contraband? That was just insane. It was just a bit of contraband! Lock them up for god's sake, but to hang them to try and put a lid on Fontaine's smuggling... I shivered as a weasel of a man jumped up on the platforms and cut them down, throwing them into a wheelbarrow to be taken to Medical and cremated.

I'd imagine Fontaine was getting a little short of staff since his men were getting arrested, swiftly convicted and had one of those nooses around their necks before they could scream for help.

Ryan was preparing for something big, I knew it, but the question was:  _What was he going to do?_

I shivered again and folded my arms across my chest. I hoped I'd never end up on those and once again I was thankful that Sinclair had a contract with Ryan, meaning he couldn't touch me if he ever found out about me.

Sinclair was already in his office with his hand clasped desperately around a cup of coffee/tar that his (recent) secretary had made up for him. He offered me a sip, but I declined. "How was the party last night?" He asked picking up the newspaper that was delivered.

"Boring. But Sullivan is cracking down on Fontaine."

"What makes you say that?"

I smiled, "He tried interviewing your Miss Adler."

The newspaper was lowered. "What did he say?"

I waved a hand and said, "He didn't interrogate her like Timmy H. Just asked if she would give up information about his boss and offered protection from Fontaine's wrath. Like that'd do much."

"An' what'd she do?"

"Politely told him to fuck off, in summary." He belted a laugh and folded his newspaper whilst laughing.

"That's my girl!"

I crossed my arms. "Your 'girl'?" I quoted a little angry.

He laughed again and said, "Don't take it personally, Hawkeye. You got a special little place that no one can fill."

"I'm not taking it personally. I just find it odd how you let a girl working for Fontaine into your list of girls."

He shook his head and pulled out a sheet of paper from his desk. "Recognize this?" He asked, handing it to me.

I took it from him and glanced it over. A faceless, blonde man dressed in a white shirt, dark suspenders, and dark trousers, with his hands clenched into fists and resting on his hips stared back at her. Beneath the drawing, in capitalized letters was the phrase: WHO IS ATLAS?

I shrugged. "I've seen these around Pauper's Drop and everywhere else in Rapture. Plastered everywhere. They seem to have sprung up overnight."

"Even past your ever careful gaze?"

I rolled my eyes, "Just because you thought of the little moniker for me doesn't mean I have eyes on everything. There are a plethora of different people putting them up. We can't keep track of who anymore."

He folded his fingers together, his eyebrows knitted together. "Things are about to get interestin' 'round here. I can feel it."

I chuckled sarcastically. "You can feel it, or you're going to send me to figure it out. 'Cause I can tell you now, I have no idea who Atlas is. I've already looked into it personally. Charles can't even get any of his co-workers to get a straight answer because they don't even know. Atlas is obviously an alias, like Hawkeye is to me. And if this Atlas character is going up against Ryan, then he knows how to hide."

"You sound almost in awe of Atlas there, sport."

"I can appreciate someone who knows how to disappear but by hiding in plain sight. I can find those who deliberately try to hide, but to hide in plain sight, well that just makes the game more fun. Gotta be with the gallows sitting outside my apartment."

Sinclair hummed in distaste. "I heard about Andy's little setup. Never thought he'd have the guts to do it, but then again Andy's goin' a little bonkers. Do you want to be moved out of Artemis Suites?"

It was a tempting offer, but I had to remain where I was. "No. As I said, I'd get lynched if I moved to Olympus Heights without so much as an explanation. And telling people I'm sleeping with someone rich wouldn't help."

"There was a reference to Jolene in there," Sinclair grinned leaning back in his seat. "But back to business. I don't have anything for ya today other than checkin' on our Miss Adler. Then tonight I'm thinkin' a trip to Arcadia would do us good."

"Arcadia? Augustus, if I didn't know any better I'd say you were trying to woo me."

He laughed and shooed me away.

* * *

Another hanging. I could hear the protests of the people outside by the gallows, even with my door closed. A young couple this time, if I remembered correctly, who were in possession of smuggled crosses and bibles. I would have thought with the growing unrest in the poor houses the hangings would have ceased, but Ryan was just as heavy with the death penalty as those Eve's Garden Betties are with penicillin. The screaming outside made it difficult to even remotely try to read, so I abandoned the book on the side table. I glanced out the window towards the gallows and grimaced.

Sullivan was standing there, grim as death with his hands behind his back not blinking once during the whole execution. The executioner read the final rights and pulled the lever. I flinched as their necks snapped once the rope tightened; a swift death for those wrongly tried. The crowd slowly dispersed as the executioner hung the 'parasite' signs around each of their necks. He and Sullivan shook hands then went their separate ways.

It escalated quickly from smuggling to a full-scale arms race between Ryan's and Fontaine's armies, only it's not about who can build the best guns and the biggest bombs, it's about who can become less of a man and more of a monster. Hell, my neighbor, Leo Hartwig had brewed himself up a concoction of leftover traces of Sports Boost, Armored Shell and other tonics for increasing muscle mass. He nearly tore apart the wall separating us in a fit of rage, but thankfully ended up outside again. He was now lumbering around Pauper's Drop and the Fishbowl Diner - still growing.

Sinclair was even getting a bit concerned sending me out into the streets since nowhere seemed to be safe anymore. The splicers had made their way into other parts of Rapture, high class, and low class alike, but I knew how to avoid them mostly, so it was nothing I couldn't handle. Didn't stop him from emphasizing that I be careful going out to Pauper's Drop.

My hand pressed against the glass of my window as I noticed something new: a behemoth in a heavy diving suit following one of those Little Sisters. Was he one of those Big Daddies Sinclair told me about? It didn't seem all that impossible since it wasn't trying to gut the child for the slug lining their stomachs, I just never thought they'd be that big and wearing a diving suit for that matter. The drill was nothing less than menacing and already stained with blood from a splicer no doubt. "Whoa..." I heard and glanced down at Patrick who was staring wide-eyed at the Big Daddy. I was partially thankful that the ADAM slugs didn't take to young boys or else I'd have to fight for to keep the kid safe.

The girl looked a little different from the others since her dress was all white and didn't look covered in blood and grime like the others, meaning she was a new Little Sister. Most of the girls from the orphanage had already been used, so it made me wonder where this little girl came from and why there was something oddly... familiar about her.

A woman approached the two, her gaze mostly trained on the little girl and her steps careful. I could recognize her anywhere: Grace Holloway. "Oh, shit..." Grace took a few more careful steps toward the girl, saying something to her. Note to self: learn to read lips.

The girl looked at her blankly before turning to the behemoth behind her and frantically pointing at Grace.

There was no way... There was no way that was Eleanor Lamb. Grace wouldn't approach any of the Little Sisters even if her life depended on it unless it was Eleanor. Two months ago Grace had told me how the little girl was kidnapped by someone and couldn't find her anywhere. She was terrified that Lamb would be angry and ashamed of her, regardless if she was in prison or not. I did my best to keep an eye out for her, but she seemed to have vanished which surprised me since no one could hide from me, but there was one place I didn't check: The Little Sisters Orphanage. Someone must have sold her to the orphanage, but I didn't know who would since she  _was_  Lamb's daughter and most of the residents of the Drop worshiped the ground she walked on.

I gasped when Grace went to hold little Eleanor but was violently knocked down by a swing of the Big Daddy's drill. I ran for my door and pulled it open; I had to get to Grace. I shoved past a few residents on the stairs and ran out the door of the apartment complex. "Grace!" I called, sprinting as fast as I could for her. Patrick was right on my heels, wanting to help any way he could.

Grace scooted away from the Big Daddy when he lumbered over her, moving to give her a killing blow. I skidded to a stop, placing myself in front of her and held my hands up to stop the Big Daddy from killing the woman. Instantly, the stench hit me like a ton of bricks and I nearly fainted from the smell. "Stop! Stop! She means no harm! We'll just go!" The Big Daddy stopped mid-swing, watching me carefully. His free hand had a symbol drawn on the back of it: a triangle. Either that was what was drawn on all the Big Daddies or it stood for 'Delta'.

Patrick took a hold of Grace and pulled her to her feet quickly, ushering her further away from the metal Daddy with small commands of 'C'mon! Hurry!'. "We're going," I reassured, backing up from him and still using myself as a shield.

"Let's go, daddy!" The Little Sister - Eleanor - giggled pulling on Delta's hand. He lumbered behind her, watching with an ever careful porthole as she skipped and sang the child's tune "In the House of Upside Down".

I let out a shaky breath that I didn't realize I was holding. I grabbed on to Grace's arm to support her, Patrick wrapping her other arm around his shoulders as best as he could.

I led Grace to Medical, mostly in silence since the swing from the drill had broken her jaw. "I'm sorry this happened, Grace," I said, carefully putting my hand on her shoulder. I stuffed a wad of cash into Grace's pocket to pay the medical bill before she was led away for surgery on her jaw to repair it. Now I kept in mind that approaching the Little Sisters in any way, shape or form could be the last thing I'd do with the new Big Daddies wandering around.

Eleanor Lamb was a Little Sister now. Sofia would be spitting coals now if she found out (probably already did).

"Is she going to be okay?" Patrick asked, looking up at me with his usual big doe eyes.

"Hopefully. I'm not sure if she'll be able to sing properly, but we'll see. C'mon." I placed my hand on his shoulder and led him out of Medical.

Something itched in the back of my mind: That Big Daddy wasn't hesitating in his intent to kill Grace, but when I had shown my face, he stopped. Grace was more harmless than I am, but he still stopped his kill swing. I would almost say that he recognized me as an ally or something, but that'd just be insane. Sinclair had explained to me that the Big Daddy program took the prisoners in his detention facility and turned them into protectors for the little girls, spliced up so they were big and powerful to take on a group of splicers no problem and bonded to a little sister. The Big Daddy held no recollection of who he was before he became a Big Daddy, being a side effect of the massive doses of plasmids given to them.

I shook my head at the whole situation and sent Patrick home. Afterwards, I left for Sinclair's office crawling into an air duct by the security station.

Sinclair greeted me with a smile when I showed up. "You're here a little later than usual," He said sipping at his tumbler of whiskey; his cigarette balanced between his index and middle finger.

I sat down on the edge of his desk, crossing my knees. "I had a run-in with one of those Big Daddies. Broke Grace's jaw."

"Grace? Holloway?"

"The very one." His eyes scanned my body, searching for any injuries on my person. "I didn't get hurt, not even a scratch. He stopped when I went to retrieve Grace."

The cigarette didn't quite reach his lips after I said that. "He... stopped?" I nodded, crossing my arms Sinclair clicked his tongue and muttered, "Interestin'..." The cigarette was between his lips again. "Besides that: it seemed to be workin' properly? Wasn't abandonin' the Little Sister?"

"Kept pretty close behind her and attacked anyone who got too close."

He smiled. "Great! That means Alexander actually succeeded!"

I guess he was happy that his 'investments' (term loosely used for prisoners) were finally not going to be brutally killed off one by one of these experiments.


	12. Chapter 12

I glanced up when I heard a small rap the front door. My arms were elbow-deep in soapy dishwater so I called out, "Patrick? Can you get the door?"

I heard the thumps of his footsteps running up to the door. After a moment, he opened the door and greeted, "Hi, Mrs. Holloway!" Grace?

I quickly retrieved a towel to dry my arms and walked into the sitting room where Grace had already been let inside and Patrick was locking the door. "Grace," I greeted, allowing a small smile to pass. "What brings you here?"

She smiled weakly, her entire jawline bruised from surgery. "I wanted to thank ya," She said quietly to avoid causing any sort of damage to the wire in her jaw.

"Thank me?"

"I wouldn'tve been able ta afford the procedure if it weren't for that money ya gave me. Where did ya get that much money?" She asked leaning forward. Oh shit. Patrick looked a little nervous too, but he kept it well hidden. I trained him well.

"Need anything to drink?"

"Some 'erbal tea would be nice. But you didn't answer ma question," She demanded as I escaped into the kitchen. She followed me set on getting the information out of me.

"Grace-" I filled up a tea kettle full of water and placed it on the stove.

"Don't 'Grace' me, young lady," She scolded, her hands on her hips. "Who is it that you're workin' for? They gave you a job, gave you dis apartment, gave you a life. Why can't you tell me who it is that gives these things to you?"

"Grace, I just can't. Is that so hard to believe?"

"I thought you trusted me."

I pointed an accusing finger at her. "Don't you dare pull that on me. Grace, I trust you, but there are some things that I just can't tell you. I can't risk it getting out; it's too important to my job that no one knows."

"Then I promise I won't tell anyone."

"It's not enough, Grace. It's important to me that no one knows me or my job. It keeps me and Patrick safe."

The kettle hissed from the steam, signaling that the water was boiling. I took the kettle off the stove and filled up a cup before I placed a tea bag inside. Grace took it from my hand and placed it on the counter. "Jamie dear, I worry 'bout you. You're like a daughter to me, child. I lost Eleanor, I can't lose you too. It'd be too much for this withered heart."

I placed my hands on Grace's shoulders. "Grace, I'm sorry. I just can't tell you. I can tell you only that my work does not put me in immediate danger. I'm only as much in danger as anyone else with those splicers crawling around. As I said, if any information gets out about me a lot of people could get hurt. I can't be responsible for that."

Grace sighed and picked up her cup. She took a sip and went back to the sitting room.

I loved Grace Holloway, I really did, but sometimes I didn't know how she kept going the way she did. The only way she was probably staying alive and keeping out of Persephone with Lamb is I've been keeping her out of it. If only she knew how much I was giving up to keep her out of the list of people Sinclair hands me every other day. I've written several false reports for Sinclair to hand over to Ryan to keep her safe. I make sure she's nowhere near the area if Sullivan and his boys come snooping around.

"That girl?" I questioned causing Grace to look up sharply at me. I stepped into the sitting room and folded my arms. "You're sure that was Eleanor?"

"Yes. I'm sure. I'd know that child anywhere."

I carded my fingers through my hair and sighed. I didn't know what to do. Nothing short of taking on that Big Daddy and taking Eleanor away, but that was suicidal. Taking on splicers was hard enough without plasmids aiding me, but taking on a Big Daddy without them... Sinclair would have to find himself another spy.

Grace left an hour later, leaving the apartment visibly upset. I'd have to be more careful around Grace since now I knew that she was asking questions about the whole situation of my employment. I laughed bitterly at a thought that came to mind: I was watching Camille and Camille was suspecting I existed. Grace was watching me and suspicious of me.

Patrick tugged on the back of my shirt. "Are you okay, ma'am?"

I nodded and gently pushed him toward his room. "Go finish your homework. I'll have dinner ready soon." He nodded slowly and gave my hand a reassuring squeeze.

An Accu-Vox was pulled out and a new reel replaced it. I had never really done anything like this before since I mostly voiced my complaints out loud in the safety of my own apartment or to Sinclair, but everyone seemed to find some sort of comfort in these things.

I hit record and sighed, "First diary. My name is Jamie Donovan, better known as Hawkeye. It is... November 18th I think, 1957. Grace came to see me today demanding answers. She wanted to know who I worked for, but I couldn't tell her. I couldn't tell her that I worked for Augustus Sinclair, the man who put Sofia Lamb behind bars. I knew she'd be angry, out for blood... Sinclair's blood and I couldn't have that Rapture Family isn't done just because Lamb's in prison. Lamb is a dangerous woman. I thought I had eyes and ears everywhere, but she's got them in even more places than me." I hit the button to end the recording. This was stupid.

I shoved the recorder back into the drawer.

* * *

I laid in the ducts once again above Fontaine's desk this time, since Fontaine had called Camille in for something or another. Probably discussing Sullivan's tailing of her. The man needed to get lessons on being subtle, but then again not everyone was like me. I was damn good at what I did. It was close to the end of the working day, so it was more than likely another briefing about the situation.

My eyebrows knitted together when I noticed Fontaine reach into his desk and pulled out several clips of cash, dumping them on the desk. "There's your wages paid up until the end of the year," He informed, his cigar rolling between his fingers. "And a little extra. A bonus."

She looked the money then back at Fontaine a little confused. Join the club. "I... Thank you?"

"Take it." I nearly flinched at how cold it was. "And get the fuck out of here." Everything screeched to a stop. Did I just hear what I thought I just heard?

"B-Beg your pardon?" Camille asked. She was trying to make sense of what he just said as well.

"Did I stutter? I said take the money and get the  _fuck outta here_. You have ten minutes to pack up your shit and  _leave._ "

"Leave? Am I being transferred?" I couldn't quite pinpoint the emotion in her voice, but I could tell she was emotionally upset about this who thing.

"No. I want you  _gone_ from this  _building_."

The waterworks were about to flow and I had to look away for a moment to avoid groaning in annoyance. Was this girl so enamored with Fontaine that she couldn't piece together that she was fired? I thought she was smart. "But... But I don't understand! I don't  _understand_ , Mr. Fontaine!"

"What, I gotta answer to you now? You're a  _secretary_ , kid. You type up letters and get me coffee. I don't gotta explain  _anythin'_  to you. Got it?"

Tears poured down her face, her cheeks and eyes turning red. "But Mr. Fontaine - What did I  _do_?!"

Fontaine stabbed at his desk with his finger. "Let me make myself clearer, Cam," He said firmly. "Either you get outta here in ten minutes, on your  _own_ , or I get my guys to  _take_  you out. And I can promise they won't be gentle. You're  _done_. You're  _fired._ " There it was.

But something seemed strange... He called her 'Cam' while in the process of firing her. I had seen Sinclair fire a few people before, but never on a first name basis, never on a nickname basis either. He would always address them as Mr., Miss, or Mrs. insert-last-name-here. Fontaine called her Cam...

"F-fired," she echoed in disbelief. "No, I don't understand – you can't just fire me, I haven't done anything!"

" _No_?" he demanded, his voice dripping with venom. He was resorting back to the Fontaine Poisonous Cobra Charm that punched babies and kicked puppies if it meant he remained in control and made money. "How's about, I don't wanna secretary who's on Sullivan's radar? How's about, I don't think I can trust ya anymore after you went behind my back and got cozy with Sinclair? Ryan's got a Great Chain – well, you're a weak link in  _my_ chain, Cam, and I'm gettin' rid of ya, one way or another. How's  _that_  for an explanation? Sufficient enough?" Valid points.

"You don't trust me?" she asked weakly.

"Not after seeing ya chattin' up the competition. If you're friendly with a selfish prick like Sinclair – after I  _deliberately_  told you to have nothin' to do with him – what'll it be like when Sullivan has you in a locked room?" He snorted distastefully. "You'll sing like a bird, I know it, and that's a liability I don't wanna have to think about." He waved a hand dismissively. "Now, do I gotta repeat myself  _again_? Get out. Pack up your desk, and  _go_. Take the money with ya. I owe it to you, at least."

She stormed from the office after a final, "As you wish, Mr. Fontaine."

I took my chance to leave and inform Sinclair of the recent development. I'm sure he'd be bouncing for joy that his little Camille was now up for grabs. Whether or not Fontaine liked it, Sinclair had his eye on Miss Camille for years and now due to Fontaine's own stupidity, Sinclair was going to get her.

What surprised me, though, was he didn't just shoot her on the spot. I knew he had a gun in the bottom drawer of his desk. Camille Adler knew everything about him aside from Jolene's baby spawn he had purchased. Letting her just walk out wasn't Fontaine's style; then again everything about him firing Camille was completely out of character for him. But another man's trash is another man's treasure and Sinclair was going to strike a jackpot if I had anything to do with it.

* * *

I had waited a few days after the termination to see if she would go crawling back begging for her job again to make sure Fontaine didn't take her back and find out Sinclair had offered her a job. Camille had drafted several letters to her ex-boss, but scrapped most of them. She spent most of her time in her apartment in bed, smoking cigarette after cigarette and drinking whatever alcohol she could find in her cabinets. It was almost pathetic, but with her being so loyal to Fontaine, I realized that it would have hit her hard.

Sinclair's grin couldn't have gotten any wider when I told him the news. "You're sure?"

"As sure as I am of your love of red velvet cake. Right now she's shut herself away in her apartment with her cat trying to write letters to convince Fontaine to give her, her job back. Go work your magic, Augustus." He smiled and stood up from his desk.

"All right. Meet me at Sander Cohen's gallery for that party I mentioned." He pulled out a ticket and handed it to me. It was to Cohen's newest gallery opening: food, fun, drinks, music, the works. "Dress your best."

He surprised me by giving me an appreciative peck on the forehead as he passed, leaving me in a state of dumbstruck awe. The door clicked shut behind me and my hand immediately flew to my forehead where his lips had met. A shaky breath escaped me as I shook my head. No time to act like an awestruck teenage girl. I was 23 for Christ's sake and I should act my damn age. I jumped up into the vent and made my way to my apartment to get ready for the evening.

Even though I wasn't Sinclair's date, I knew he wanted me to scope the crowd like always.

I stripped off my work clothes and pulled out the crimson dress from that night at the Kashmir. A smile made it's way across my mouth as I lightly spread it out over the bed. I could still feel Sinclair's hand on my waist, his breath on my ear asking me for my name. Slipping the dress over my head, I smoothed it out once it settled near perfect along my thin figure. My hair was braided again just as that night, but this time I took the liberty of adding a decorative hairpin with the shape of a red rose on it. Applying a bit of makeup, I picked up a handbag (that held a switchblade knife) and left, locking my apartment behind me.

I rode alone over to Fort Frolic and enjoyed the silence before I was flooded with a room full of people and secrets to dissect. The quietest anyone could have with a good view of the city to boot; the sparkling towers, the glowing tunnels that people walked along, the schools of colorful fish swimming past without a care in the world the beautiful coral reefs that surrounded the entire city. Rapture may have its faults, but it was truly a beautiful place when one just sat down and smelled the roses.

I had beaten Sinclair to Fort Frolic since I didn't spot him near the doors.

As if on cue, a bathysphere arrived and Sinclair with Camille holding on to the crook of his arm stepped out, Camille looked like she was having second thoughts.

I followed them in and before long, I was standing in Poseidon Plaza, entering the Sinclair Spirits for a drink to blend in more. Once again pointing to the woman next to me and asking for whatever she was drinking, I was handed a flute of champagne and sent on my way so that the bartender could attend to other customers. It was loud with enough gossip to sink a cruiser drifting around. It was a bit difficult to pick apart fact from fiction, but I figured if I didn't hear the words, "Did you hear...?" that it meant that the information was as good as it was going to get.

Cohen's Collections: that was what the gallery was being called now. Mostly bare with the exception of a few things covered in purple drapes. Cohen himself was standing on a stage with his apprentices behind him, each looking more annoyed than the other. Kyle Fitzpatrick was easy to spot with his ginger hair and boyish charm to him. He was the youngest of the group. Hector was next to him, already looking half in the bag with his eye switching between a flute of champagne from a waiter in a sleek uniform and Kyle himself. There was a small rumor that those two were involved romantically, but again rumors would be rumors (I believed it). Next to Hector was Martin Finnegan. Finnegan was a grumpy sod who was another gifted sculptor training under Cohen. And finally, there was Silas Cobb, the owner of Rapture Records who looked about as happy as a shark whose food escape.

Sinclair made his appearance besides me without Camille in sight. We didn't look each other in the eye at all with the exception of a few noncommittal glances, acting like we were just discussing something unimportant. "Powder room?" I questioned and he nodded. "How's she enjoying the event?"

"About as much as one can expect. She's still scared Fontaine will show up."

"Fontaine? Show up here? The only way that man is coming here is if someone twists his arm."

"Or he's with Miss Camille. Anything I should know?"

"Cohen's more talkative tonight. You should get him talking to Camille, butter her up. Also, I smell something strong like paper with a lot of industrial glue, paint, and plaster. Steinman's on a rampage about his aesthetics, so avoid him. He's giving everyone the creeps."

Sinclair nodded and made his way over to Cohen, striking up a conversation with him right before Camille reentered the room. She blushed when Cohen had addressed her and conversed with her briefly before looping his arm around Finnegan's waist and leading him away to get ready for the grand reveal.

I nearly jumped when someone tapped me on the shoulder. Steinman gave a seemingly charming smile. "Miss Hawkeye, what a pleasure to find you here. I didn't know you were someone of importance to be here."

"My reasons are my own for being here, Steinman."

He hummed at the answer before once again staring at my nose. "You know, my offer is still on the table for a quick procedure to make your nose perfect. What excuse do you have not to be beautiful? With ADAM, that is possible." A business card was between his fingers quickly. I took it and waited until he left me well enough alone to crush it and throw it to the ground.

"Mesdames et messieurs," Cohen called happily, his voice echoing across the room, "Welcome to the latest incarnation of Cohen's Collection! I hope you have all enjoyed the music, the flowing champagne, the heaving forest of beautiful bodies, and the suspense as you milled around, wondering what the evening would bring!"

There was a round of applause that I did not join in on. Cohen gave me the creeps with his heavy stage makeup that looked more like a child's drawing than makeup. He continued on, "I must say that I owe an enormous debt of gratitude to Dr. Steinman, who provided invaluable services to me during the creation of my latest artwork, and who provided me with his own brand of inspiration." Steinman gave a small wave when the spotlight was dropped on him. Steinman working with Cohen on an art project? This could not turn out well in the least...

"And so, without further ado…" Cohen clapped his hands and the curtains raised, revealing his little project behind the zealous curtains. "I present to you, the crowning glory of my artistic career!"

Hidden beneath the purple drapes were white plastered figures, life-sized and styled in various poses. There was a trio of ballerinas; at an old baby grand sat a plaster-figure of a pianist, his delicate fingers poised over the keys reminding me a little of Kyle when he played. There were a few others with masks covering their faces. They seemed way to realistic to be just sculptures... It wasn't until I examined them more closely, that I spotted a little speck of red soaking out under the plaster. Shit... Blood. Those were  _people_  under the plaster!

Sinclair and Camille were close to the front, not noticing what I could see with the 'statues', but I heard Camille mention something about the statues being disturbing. If only she knew the truth. It was moments like that I cursed my power of observation.

Cohen spread his arms over his figures presenting them in a manner only he could pull off. "My inspiration for this latest collection comes from a long meditation on that impossible question, 'Does life imitate art, or does art imitate life?' – and I have concluded that…" He paused dramatically. "Life IS art. Oh yes, there are plays and musicals and operas, moving art forms, but they are so transient, so fleeting! In only a moment, that perfect tableau is gone, replaced by another. I seek to capture those moments of beauteous living art, to capture them forever, so that we might enjoy them as we enjoy paintings, as objects to be admired for years to come. My latest collection is my attempt to capture the beauty of living art as my legacy…" Applause from the crowd. "My dear Dr. Steinman was instrumental in the more – ahem – anatomical aspects of the figures. Without him, I would only have captured imperfect life as art. Now, though, it is complete! I will not stop with these, my first attempts. No, my muse has urged me to focus my energies on the tableaux vivants as my newest outlet, and my muse must not be disappointed."

I dropped my empty champagne flute on a waiter's tray and left the area, not wanting to be near the bodies forever trapped inside the plaster models. I would inform Sinclair later, but for now, I was going to be sick if I hung around for too long. I had seen some pretty horrific things in the years I lived in Rapture, but I can't think of one thing that topped what Cohen was calling  _art._  I leaned against the wall to try and settle my churning stomach. I had noted the shortage of staff around Fort Frolic and a few of Cohen's fans had mysteriously vanished, but I assumed that they might've been locked up in Persephone for annoying the flamboyant artist. But for him to turn them into plaster statues? That was just madness.

I noticed Kyle rush out of the back door of the room with Hector holding his shoulders tightly. The poor boy was clutching his wrist and looked like he was trying his hardest not to sob in the public view. The wrist was bent at an awkward angle - it was broken. Kyle sat down on a nearby bench and Hector kneeled in front of him, examining his wrist carefully. "I'm sorry, Kyle, I'm so sorry," Hector muttered, his voice raspy.

"It's not your fault, Hec. It's mine. I screwed up on that piece-"

"Screwed up? You played it perfectly. I don't know what Cohen's problem is!" Hector said Cohen's name with every bit of venom he could conjure up. "We have to get you to the hospital. C'mon." He pulled the young boy to his feet and led him out of the area.

Cohen would break Kyle's wrist? For a supposed mess up on a piece, he was playing? Kyle needed his hands to play the piano for Cohen so breaking his wrist seemed counterproductive. I've broken a wrist before, it took weeks to heal; weeks that Cohen would be without a pianist. I wouldn't put it past Cohen to make Kyle play regardless of the cast; hell, I'm sure he would break the cast off and tell Kyle to play.

Rapture was going to hell and Ryan was driving the bus.

I waited by the bathysphere station for Sinclair to show his mug after I found the two eating in one of the restaurants. I almost laughed when I spotted the red velvet cake on Sinclair's plate that he was digging in to happily. If that man had a kryptonite, it was for the taste of red velvet cake.

He passed me only about 10 minutes later escorting Miss Adler to the bathysphere.

With a discrete nod, everything was explained: He had made the offer, but now it was only the matter of the waiting game for Adler to agree to his terms.


	13. Chapter 13

_1958_

* * *

Camille Adler was now an official business partner of Sinclair Solutions - Sinclair was almost giddy. I didn't approve of his choice to bring her straight to Persephone after getting her office set up nice and pretty, but it was his choice. The reason was that of Andrew Ryan's commission of the new Protector Program to guard the Little Sisters who were being picked off one by one by the splicers that were rearing their ugly faces. Sinclair was providing the subjects for the program with his prisoners in Persephone.

It came as no surprise to me when she came back furious at him. As I reclined in my spot in the air ducts, I could hear her storm out of his office and slam the door behind her. Sinclair let out a loud groan and leaned back in his comfortable black leather chair at the whole thing. I dropped out of the vent and leaned against Sinclair's desk. "You okay?" I asked seeing the frustration wrapping around his very person. Sinclair gave me a slightly pleading look. "Find out why she's upset. Got it."

"And remember to keep out of sight. If she couldn't handle Persephone, it'll be worse if she finds out 'bout you."

I rolled my eyes. "You make me out to be some kind of dirty secret. Besides,  _you_  took her to Persephone, not me. Makes me wonder what you'd be without me."

Sinclair stood up from his chair and wrapped his arm around my shoulders, making me blush. "I'd be belly up somewhere, darlin'," He answered jokingly.

It took a few days, but Camille finally went someplace else other than her apartment. She had spent the past few days actively avoiding and ignoring Sinclair to the best of her ability not taking into account of their offices being side by side and that she had to report to him every day. But other than that, she was doing a decent job of it.

Camille had retreated back to Olympus Heights after work to a little bistro filled with other residents of the apartment complexes, but Camille seemed to be alone with a dry martini and a copy of the Tribune. That couldn't be good since most people in Olympus Heights didn't read it since it was mostly crap stories about crap people and sold for a quick buck.

I nearly flipped when Stanley Poole walked into the little bistro, looking around for someone. There was no way he was here to meet Camille. No one in their right mind would meet with Poole. She beckoned Poole over to her table, and he nervously sat down, claiming that he was here to meet Sinclair. Camille threw him a curve ball and said she had called him there.

She asked him about Johnny Topside, which shocked me. Johnny Topside was someone that she shouldn't be concerned with since he was now locked up in Persephone; mentioning him would result in the hangman's noose. If anything, Topside was surviving the best way he knew how: Don't trust anybody. He was also giving them the silent treatment which drove Sinclair nuts but made me smile.

Harmless enough, though, but it didn't explain why she was upset with Sinclair. If she remained upset with Sinclair, he would give me grief that I did not appreciate in the least. It was like dealing with a child who didn't get his way with a successful BAR Exam behind it. "Is Sinclair having me watched?"  _Hello_ , what have we here? Camille seemed to not only have caught on to Sinclair's little game but mine as well. Stanley was one of the few people who I had interacted with making him perfect for this line of questioning and with the addition of a few crisp hundred dollar bills, she had Stanley in the palm of her hand. Well played.

"What?" The rat man asked.

"Is. Augustus. Sinclair. Having. Me. Watched." I applauded the bite in her tone. She seemed to have picked a few tricks up from Fontaine over the years of working with him.

"Why don't you go ask 'im yourself?" Poole questioned, leaning back and crossing his arms nonchalantly. Camille's eye narrowed at the notion. "Ah, so things aren't so cozy between you two, huh?" I smirked at the statement. Stanley couldn't have been more right.

"I don't want to talk about it. I don't want to ask  _him_ ; I'm asking  _you,_ " She hissed at him.

"I don't know what you're talkin' about," Stanley said shaking his head. She drew her fingers back slowly with the money stuck under them. That made Stanley squirm. "Wait! I mean, I don't know what you're talkin' about because  _I'm_ not the one watchin' you, OK?"

"You're not?"

"Nope." Stanley had laid eyes on me now and started to sweat. He knew if he said the wrong thing, I'd have a few choice words and actions I'd say and do to him.

"So there  _is_  someone watching me. How do I know you're telling the truth, Stanley? Honesty isn't exactly what I'd call your most prominent trait."

Stanley threw up his hands in his own defense. "It's not me! I  _promise._  I got better things to do than tail someone like you. You know, I got my trashy newspaper to write,  _remember_?" That comment earned him a punch later.

"Do you know who  _is_  watching me?"

His eyes switched a few times from Camille to the money before glancing over in my direction, not enough to give away that I was there but enough so Stanley could see me. "I-I dunno what makes you think Sinclair's got eyes on you, Adler?"

Please," she replied, "I'm not an idiot. I know Sinclair's keeping an eye on me – maybe not  _his_ own eyes, but definitely someone else's. A man like him just doesn't do business with someone he doesn't know everything about. He's got his finger on my pulse, so to speak. My suspicions were recently confirmed that I shouldn't be so trusting of Sinclair. I guess… I guess I didn't really want to believe it." She tapped her finger on one of the hundred-dollar bills. "All I want to know is who Sinclair has watching me."

Poole stared at the money but said nothing. It would take a little more grease to get this pig to squeal.

She began drumming her fingers on the table, drawing his attention to the money. She counted out a few more hundred-dollar bills and placed them on the small stack starting to form beneath her manicured fingers. Definitely Fontaine's influence. I almost applauded her her well-played game.

He twitched.

"Stanley?" she questioned. "Not going to say anything? All right, then, I guess we're done here…" She pulled the money away.

"I don't know who Sinclair has watching you!" he cried.

"You know the ins and outs of the city," she said sarcastically. "I refuse to believe you don't have an answer for me." She was clearly unamused by Stanley's blatant avoidance to give away anything about me since he knew he'd be in a world of hurt if he gave away too much.

Poole shook his head. "No, what I mean is I don't know her name. She's, ah, I dunno, some rough duct-rat from the Drop. An orphan, I think. Sinclair and she have been doin' business for a few years now. Hell, she was tailing  _me_  for a little bit. That's all I know, I swear!" He was close. I wasn't an orphan: my mother was still alive, just spreading her legs for some guy named Rupert.

"That's  _all_?"

"Look, I don't know her name. She goes by some weird little moniker. Eagle or Falcon or something. Hawk-something. Hawkeye!" he concluded with a triumphant grin.

"Where does she live?"

He shrugged. "Used to live in the Drop but I think Sinclair put her up somewhere nice."

Somewhere nice?  _Right_ , and the Artemis Suites was  _nice._  Polish a turd, it's still a turd, but at least it was home. A home that I could feel somewhat safe inside just like Sinclair and I had agreed upon all those years ago. She nodded and finished off her martini. "How long has she been watching me?"

Poole shrugged again. "I dunno, Adler."

" _Why_ has she been watching me?"

"I dunno!" he screeched. I knew she realized by now that what she was told was all she was getting out of him because that was all he knew about me.

Camille sighed. She shoved the money towards him and muttered, "Get out of here."

Stanley took off like his ass was on fire.

I almost chuckled at this development. Camille was now on to me; regardless if she knew my name or not. All she knew was my little nickname Sinclair had picked out for me, but with a little whispering, she could probably dig it out of Sinclair if she asked politely. She had successfully scared the piss out of Stanley Poole which earned her a few more points in my book, even going as far as bribery which Fontaine was especially good at. She had grown from the goody-two-shoes I had originally made her out to be a woman of many faces, used to survive the ever-changing world of Rapture.

I let a smirk grace my features as she paid the bistro and left with her handbag tucked under her arm. "Well played, Miss Adler, well played," I said to myself as she exited through the doors. "Gonna have to watch my step from now on."

I stood up and left having not ordered anything from the menu. Camille was one interesting woman: One second she's all hot and bothered over Fontaine, the next she's glaring down Stanley Poole wanting information like a true con man.

I caught up to Stanley easily at the bathysphere station and pulled him into a maintenance room, locking the door behind me. I crossed my arms and stared down the skittish man. "H-Hawkeye! Whatta... Whatta surprise!" He stammered scratching his elbow as a nervous tick.

I smirked and leaned against the nearby wall. "So, a few hundred dollar bills makes your tongue slip, does it?"

"I-I don't know-"

"You know exactly what I'm talking about. And I thought Sinclair paid you for silence?"

Stanley shifted nervously in place, glancing at the door for a possible escape, but with my position by the door, so escape was impossible. "Y-Yeah, about that..."

"Stanley, because I find this amusing, I will allow this to slide just once. But listen closely: nothing stays hidden from me. Nothing." I thought it over for a moment. "I think I can make this work for the both of us."

"What?"

"I want you to make her think that you're trying to figure out who I am. Start with small things: physical descriptions. Interactions I have with Sinclair. For example, the night of Cohen's big art reveal, I was there. If Camille asks Sinclair directly and he tells her everything, I will send you a message through the pneumo. Sound simple enough?"

"Yeah! Yeah! No problem, Hawkeye... Do I uh... get an incentive?"

"Your incentive is I don't gut you alive to keep my existence a secret. I've made quite the career out of it, and I would prefer it to stay that way." I opened the door, and he was gone before I could say goodbye.

The trip to Sinclair's office was shorter than usual. Probably because I was rushing in my joy of a challenge. "Figured out what's goin' on with Camille?" He asked the moment I dropped in through the vent.

"Even better." His hand froze mid-sentence on his memo. He raised an eyebrow, then set down the ball-point pen. "She knows she's being followed."

He looked shocked for a moment. "How did she find out? Did she see you?"

"No. She saw Stanley Poole." I grimaced at the man's name. "Met with him at a little bistro outside Olympus Heights. She asked him first about Johnny Topside, and then she bribed him enough to get him to spill the beans on me. All she knows though is your little nickname for me and that I used to live in the Drop."

"And Stanley just..."

"I dealt with it."

Sinclair grimaced and rubbed his jaw. "And here I thought we were gettin' along again. She did come to Persephone and apologized for the outburst."

I shrugged. "Perhaps she's trying to catch you with your guard down. Or she figures it'll be easier to ask if she's being watched if you two are on good terms. Whatever you decide, I'll go with it."

Sinclair smiled at the statement. "That's what I like about you. You don't ask questions."

I smiled as well. "All I care is that I don't end up dead."

Sinclair stood and folded his hands behind his back, pacing toward the window that had a magnificent view of the city of Rapture and the surrounding coral reef. "How long have we worked together, Jamie?"

"Four years. Why?"

"Four years an' not once did you complain about my businesses. Everyone else seems keen on tellin' me that I have a heart of stone."

I chuckled under my breath. I joined his side by the window and looped my arm with his. "Augustus, I lived in the Drop for years. If there is one thing I learned, it's don't bite the hand that feeds you. You were the only person who sought after me, even if it was for your own personal goals. You gave me a home, money... friendship." I gave his arm a squeeze. "I don't care for your businesses. You're just living the Rapture Dream, and if anyone argues about, well tell them to sod off."

He unhooked our arms and replaced his arm around my shoulders, drawing me in close. "This is why we work so well together."

"How's Camille adjusting to working for you?"

"Still hesitant about it, but she'll come around. She worked with Fontaine after all, and he's far from a saint despite the poor houses and orphanages. I know a charity scam anywhere." He blew out a stream of smoke.

"You and me both. Planning on telling Miss Adler about me anytime soon?"

Stanley  _had_  been slipping little notes to her pneumo on more than one occasion, but most of it seemed useless to someone like Camille; too smart and observant for her own good. No doubt she was getting a bit paranoid about her surroundings, believing I watched her day and night. If I had the ability to stay up for days on end, I'd be doing more productive things than watching her day in and day out. As long as Stanley kept feeding her like this, the game wouldn't end.

"I might if I can find a way to word it without settin' her off. She's like a firecracker: harmless at first until you cause a spark. I still find it funny how she apologized for spilling her drink all over the rug. It's not like it doesn't have coffee or blood already stained into it."

I smiled. "Adds character."

"It's not even my blood. How does that happen?" He tapped his chin playfully. "Oh yeah, my crazy asset drops through the air vent covered in blood fightin' off a splicer, so he doesn't send her into the great hereafter. I think you need a security system around you or somethin', you're goin' to give me a heart attack one of these days."

"Aw, you do care."

Sinclair reached up and patted my cheek, letting his thumb run over a few of the small scars that littered my face. "I always care." I reached up and patted the hand before standing up. "I'm going to be in Persephone tomorrow if you need anything."

He handed me a small list of names he wanted me to look in to, before sending me on my way; just in time too since Camille had walked in with a stack of papers right as I was entirely in the air ducts. "Were you talking to someone?" I heard her ask.

"Yes. Phone call with Weir. Sorry if it disturbed you."

"No... No, it's fine. I have a few papers I need to check over with you."

I crawled silently away from the office so that she wouldn't hear me.

The day went by quickly as I finished up the last name on the list: Gloria Parson. Her husband had recently been locked up in Persephone for speaking out against Ryan and his bookstore completely emptied of its belongings leaving her and her son alone, trying to make ends meet. I sympathized, I did, but I was not paid to sympathize. I was paid to get what Sinclair wanted with or without my approval of the situation.

I treated myself for a job well done with a burger from the Fighting McDonagh's before dropping off my report and heading home.

* * *

Persephone: Secret home to Sinclair Solutions. It was cold, damp and smelled of something like an underground subway tunnel in New York. It was filled with hardened criminals and people that Ryan wanted gone alike, each probably had a run-in with Sullivan. I did not favor coming here for long periods of time, but I had to see Sinclair about his request of coming here more often to listen in on the prisoners for any discussions of escape or if anyone got a hold of the security office door code. It was a last minute decision to bring Patrick since he was getting older, meaning I could send him on a few more dangerous jobs that I would normally do.

The ducts here were a little smaller than the rest of Rapture, but of course, this place was built to drop into a miles-deep ocean trench in case of an emergency like a complete takeover, with minimal to no damage to the city. If that was the case, the air ducts would be closed automatically upon detonation of the supports to prevent flooding which meant I was screwed if I was ever here when the call came through the blast the supports. The security tower we were heading for was a little warmer than the rest of the building thankfully and that was where Sinclair was according to Weir.

I dropped in finally, scaring the piss out of a few of the guards stationed there. "Easy, fellas, she's with me," Sinclair reassured giving me a smile. "Nice of you to drop in, Hawkeye."

"You invited me here," I pointed out, reaching up and helping Patrick down.

"At least you're not getting dragged here," he also pointed out putting his hand on my shoulder. "Why hello there, Mr. McManus," Sinclair greeted with a grin. "Finally going on bigger jobs with Miss Hawkeye?"

Patrick grinned back, "Sure am!" He rushed over to the observation window, gazing down at the populace of the prison. A few of the prisoners milled about below in the rec area, each looking worse than the next with scars from surgery or boils and bulges from ADAM use. They looked pathetic.

"I'm having Patrick shadow me on a few more jobs. Soon he'll be flying solo. So spill, Sinclair. Why am I here?"

"There's been whisperin' of a possible uprisin'," He started, folding his arms across his chest. "I want to get ahead of it."

"Get ahead of it?" I questioned. "If you already get to the point of discussion, you're already doomed."

"But I have you to find out who the ringleader is. Cut off the head an' the limbs will fail."

I shook my head and moved toward the circle window overlooking the main floor, standing right behind Patrick. "I can already tell you who it is. You made the mistake of letting Lamb continue her practice which makes it easy for her to start planning an uprising one prisoner at a time."

He sighed. "I supposed that makes sense. We just wanted to be sure before we did anythin'."

Patrick tugged on my sleeve. "That man's got on explosive."

"What?!"

We flinched at a small explosion that occurred near a cell and prisoners immediately flooded the area; screaming, hurling fireballs, shooting electricity and killing guards in the process. The screeching siren went off, and the lights flashed red. Patrick scrambled away from the observation window and latched on to my waist.

"I think that uprising happened a lot sooner than you thought!" I exclaimed, grabbing on to Patrick's hand to lead him out. If it was the last thing I did, I was not about to let these prisoners, innocent or not, harm Patrick or Sinclair.

A few of the guards with us grabbed rifles and hollered into radios, "THE BUTTERFLY IS TAKING WING! I REPEAT, THE BUTTERFLY IS TAKING WING!" Prisoners came into sight and were quickly put down by bullets. They ran into the hallway and were immediately jumped by several more prisoners. One managed to jump on Sinclair, knocking him straight to the floor.

I saw red. "Oh no, you don't!" I growled low. He only got a punch in, busting open Sinclair's lip before I was tackling him off to the side, throwing punches. He kicked me off frantically and tried to crawl away, but I was on his back with my arms secured around his neck. He clawed painfully at my exposed arms leaving deep welts on my skin. With a twist, he neck was snapped, and he slumped to the ground dead.

The guards shot a few more before the rest took off. I pulled Sinclair to his feet and shouted, "Move!" I noticed that I could see my breath meaning they were in the environmental controls.

"Where's Miss Adler?" Sinclair questioned a guard.

"Last I heard she was in Central Processing."

"Adler's here?!"

"She wanted to see the processing for some reason. I don't ask very much," Sinclair explained quickly over the blaring sirens.

"Goddammit!" I stopped for a moment and grabbed Patrick's shoulder. "I need you to get to Miss Adler. Make sure she's safe. Can you do that for Sinclair and me?" Patrick nodded quickly. I handed him my switchblade and propelled him into an already open vent to make his way to Central Processing and to Miss Adler.

I checked corners as we ran for the processing station; the final checkpoint before we were in the bathysphere station. "You sure the boy will be alright?!" Sinclair shouted over the alarms.

"I didn't train him so well for nothing!"

" _This is Dr. Sofia Lamb! We have very nearly taken this facility! You have all prepared for this. You all know what must be done_.  _The conman, Sinclair, and his employees are fleeing at this very moment. We will be silenced no longer!_ " I was right. Leave it to Sinclair to allow her to hold private therapy sessions: the easiest way for her to plot an uprising one prisoner at a time. It was brilliant really - She made it seem like she was helping the prisoners with their problems and keep them docile and the prison ran mostly smoothly with the occasional fight breaking out. The prisoners, in return, got to vent their problems and put Sofia as their leader. Sinclair owed me for this.

Prisoners again ambushed us, more than the other times leaving the guards to try and fight them off as I got Sinclair to the processing station. One was already killed with a pipe to the head, leaving two guards to hold their own against six prisoners in an enclosed hallway. I turned away to continue shoving Sinclair to safety when a pipe was thrown into my shoulder, sending me to the floor. "Jamie!" Sinclair exclaimed, just as a Splicer leaped on top of me.

"Go!" I shouted, grasping the psychotic man by the throat to hold him off me. The splicer slugged me across the face, making black spots dance in my vision. My hand padded around furiously for the pipe that knocked me down as the man hit me again, almost successfully knocking me out. Fuck, I can't reach the pipe... This was going to hurt... I jerked my head up and smashed my forehead into the splicers nose, causing a blood-curdling scream and him scrambling off of me. My hand went to my forehead - nobody wins with a headbutt.

A guard grabbed my arm and pulled me carefully to my feet, wrapping his arm around my shoulders to keep me upright. They shot the one I headbutted and dragged me toward the bathysphere station. Sinclair was standing in the doorway waiting for us and he held out his hands to take me off the guard. He sat me down beside him and held me tight against his side. "You idiotic, suicidal, brave woman. I should fire you!" He exclaimed laughing slightly, kissing my forehead. It didn't help the pounding in my head, but I didn't voice it. Sinclair was already worried enough as it was.

His knuckle went under my chin and he raised my face up for him to see better. "Your eye..." He muttered, his thumb tracing the blue and black bruise forming.

"It's fine, really," I reassured scooting closer to his warm body. "Your lip is..." I trailed off as I bunched my sleeve up in my palm and patted lightly at the blood, trying my best to get it cleaned. It was a failing endeavor, but it made me feel better.

It was a quiet ride back to the Sinclair Tower aside from the hum of the bathysphere's engine.

When we arrived in the bathysphere dock in the basement level, we stepped out and looked around like this was heaven. "I never want to have to do that again," I said walking toward the elevator. Sinclair caught my wrist and pulled me to his chest, burying his nose in my dark brown hair. "Augustus?"

The guards shifted uncomfortably and quickly made their way to the elevator. "I was scared that I lost you. Don't ever do that again," He said quietly.

I wrapped my arms around his waist and rested my cheek against his collarbone. "I'm sorry," I whispered, my eye sliding shut. It was silent for a while, but not awkwardly silent. It was a comfortable silence as Sinclair held me tightly. After that whole experience, I was thankful for being here with Sinclair safe and sound. "I suppose you should go check on Camille. I'm sure she's shaken up after that whole thing. I have to make sure Patrick's okay."

"Yeah. Yeah, I suppose I should. And I need to place a call to Andy Ryan. What are you goin' to do, Jamie?" he questioned spreading me back at arm's length.

"I need to get some aspirin for this headache forming."

He nodded, patting my shoulder once more before we headed toward the elevator. I left once the elevator hit the first floor and gave a small wave to Sinclair who waved back with a smile, but winced when it pulled on his busted lip. "Get that lip checked out!" I called to him and he nodded. The elevator doors closed, taking Sinclair up to the top floor.

Patrick was sitting in the lobby, making me sigh in relief. There wasn't any physical damage from what I could see, only dirt and soot from the fires. "Ma!" He called making me freeze in place. "I-I mean... Miss Donovan," He shuffled his feet in place, embarrassed now.

I scratched the back of my neck and sighed. "Let's go home." He smiled and fell into stride beside me.

* * *

_September 12, 1958_

* * *

Not even a week later I nearly dropped the newspaper delivered to my door.

Headline: _Ryan takes down smuggling operation. Fontaine and thugs killed in fiery shootout!  
_

Ryan actually did it. He actually took down Fontaine. When Sullivan had told his boys to get ready for it, I thought Fontaine would be ready for them and be elsewhere to avoid getting shot, but I guess he was set to go down guns-a-blazin', sick of Ryan's bullshit.

Or he was doing what I think he would do. Fontaine was a con man, meaning he's taken bullets before and knew how to make it look like he died. Fall back into the open sub-bays, get picked up by a diver and taken elsewhere and he'd be gold. The chances of that happening were slim, but it wasn't out of the list of possibilities. Because that's what I would have done if I was in Fontaine's position.

I dropped the newspaper on the kitchen table and sat down, taking a drink of a glass of water. I thought a little bitterly that Camille would probably blame me for getting the information about it. If only she knew that I tried my hardest to avoid Fontaine like the plague and watching her was the closest I had ever gotten to the now dead con man. There was a reason he was called the Boogeyman, and like the legend of the Boogeyman, people tended to disappear.

But perhaps it'd be the push she'd need to ask Sinclair about me if she was as attached to Fontaine as I thought she was. Emotional about losing her former boss and heartthrob, it made people do stupid things like scream at the very person trying to be their friend. I'd have to keep more of an eye on Miss Camille Adler.

I glanced out the window, noticing people putting up more of those 'WHO IS ATLAS?' posters. Things were only going to get worse.


	14. Chapter 14

I flipped aimlessly through the newspaper, stopping only to read an article written by Poole about the whole shoot out with Fontaine.

It was Peach Wilkins who had flipped Frank Fontaine to Ryan for a deal (deal remaining confidential). McDonagh, being the smart one, made it clear that they wouldn't touch his business interests, but Ryan only cared about finally getting a shot at Fontaine. Fontaine, on the other hand, signaled to every one of his workers that he was going to make one last stand and go down like John bloody Wayne rather than allow himself to be arrested. That's what the newspapers said anyway. Did I believe it? Yes, yes I did. Did I believe Fontaine was dead? Not in the slightest.

Despite the warnings, Ryan nationalized Fontaine Futuristics and made it part of Ryan Industries. Stupid move on his part since it sent the whole lower class Rapture community into an uproar.

Camille was continually harassed by Sullivan and it was taking its toll, even more-so since the news of Fontaine's death. Sullivan was only interested in her to find out if she herself had committed any sort of crime against Rapture for an excuse to torture the poor girl and string her up for the vague answers she gave him during their interview. My finger danced over the play button of an Accu-Vox before pressing down. The Accu-Vox crackled to life and Camille's voice croaked out in the old speakers, _"I miss Fontaine. I miss him a lot. But there's nothing I can do about it. Sinclair is all I have._ " She chuckled bitterly on the recording _"I can't believe this is how things have ended up."_ The recording came to an end after a loud thump. Camille had sounded high during the whole recording, probably taking a line of Fontaine's coke before recording it. The thought probably burned in her mind until she had gotten it recorded on her little Accu-Vox.

"Story of my life..." I muttered.

I had dropped into Camille's apartment shortly after she had gone to bed to retrieve the recording, replacing it with a new reel to avoid some suspicion and to keep it out of Sullivan's grasp. If she replayed the tape, then the theft would easily be noticed, but that would only fuel her drive to find out who I am if Sinclair hadn't told her all ready.

I shook my head and shoved the Accu-Vox into a drawer of my desk to be forgotten about.

I had work to do involving an incident at the Silver Fin Restaurant where Charles was meeting me. Patrick was tasked with finding the woman that supposedly walked out of there the night things went ape-shit (Morris Lauderman's words). Charles was meeting me there having been trying to quell the problem of a burst pipe caused by a stray Old Man Winter blast. Dry ice was always a messy business since it didn't melt easily, according to Charles and he hated it when citizens would use it against each other or showing off because of the unnecessary damage it caused.

The Silver Fin was quiet when I arrived. Suchong had gone back to his lab in the Free Clinic, running more tests on the bond between the Big Daddies and Little Sisters to strengthen it. Eleanor and Delta may have succeeded but that was an accident. They had to figure out how to replicate it and get the other girls to bond like Eleanor did.

"Hey!" Charles called out, jogging up to me carrying a utility bag full of tools and a... blowtorch? "Sorry I'm late."

I grimaced at the smell coming from him. "You smell like burning oil."

"That wouldn't be far from the truth."

I rolled my eyes and gestured for him to stay put. I walked off to a maintenance room and crawled through the vent until I was on the other side of the front door. Unlocking it for Charles, we continued in, noting the strangely static feeling permeating throughout the building. "Never been to this restaurant. Couldn't afford it. Now that I can, it's a shame that is was closed up," Charles commented, shifting his bag to the other hand.

I didn't respond.

We finally stepped in to the central dining area and nearly tripped at our sudden stop.

In the middle was a massive machine with numerous cables running through it and around the restaurant and in a perfect circle in the center was the picture of a city. Not Rapture, but a city in the clouds. Charles gulped and gave me a glance. _You first_. I stepped closer to the circle, startled as I felt the _breeze_ \- the fucking breeze! Reaching out with a shaky hand, my hand passed through the circle and I just about had a heart attack when I could feel the wind and the heat of the _sun_. My hand drew back like it had bit me. "What is this?"

"I was gonna ask you," Charles answered, not coming as close as I had, but enough to feel the breeze as it tousled his hair. The clock tower in the cloud-city chimed 12 o'clock in the afternoon, startling the both of us. It was around midnight here, so why did it chime noon there? "This is way above my pay grade. Got any ideas?"

"A portal? I don't know."

We both spun around when the Securis door leading into the restaurant opened. "I thought I locked this. Door broken."

It was Suchong.

Charles and I slipped out of sight before making our escape back out the vent we came in, passing Suchong without him noticing.

"Go home," I ordered. "I'll... I'll think of something to try and explain this to Sinclair. I'll see if Patrick has any leads on the mystery woman."

"You don't have to tell me twice. Night." He walked off and disappeared through the tunnel system.

I ran my hand through my hair, pulling it out of its ponytail. Things were just getting stranger. A portal to another city? A mystery woman who's made an appearance, but has been successfully evading being seen by me or the others. She's probably found a way to blend in. I had to find her before things went even more wrong.

* * *

Patrick led me to the Sinclair Deluxe where she was apparently staying until she could get her bearings of the city. He had overheard her talking to the attendant and giving the name of Elizabeth Comstock which was a name I was _not_ familiar with. There was no way she stayed under my radar this long since I knew everyone in the city and there hadn't been a new person since Johnny Topside. Ryan locked down the city making coming and going impossible. We waited a floor above her apartment, watching and waiting for her to make a move.

Patrick nearly dozed off on my shoulder when Elizabeth finally opened the door. I jerked my shoulder, waking the boy up. She was heading for the entrance to the Deluxe, dressed in a black pencil skirt, a white dress button up shirt with a black collar, and dark leggings - a proper lady looking to make an impression.

"Who is she?" I muttered, crossing my arms. "Elizabeth Comstock... where did you come from?" Patrick shrugged.

I let her go to see what would become of Elizabeth over the next couple of days. Let her move through the city unhindered. She spent a lot of time in the library, reading about Rapture's history and philosophies, studying the security and structures that made up the city of Rapture and grew a strange fascination with the bathysphere models. A woman with a thirst for knowledge. What was starting to get strange, was the fact that she was asking around for a Booker Dewitt. What could she want with that raving alcoholic and gambler? He was one of the few citizens of Rapture who stayed off my list of useful people. Dewitt was a terrible P.I. as he was a gambler, landing him severely in debt. I didn't know what he thought when he adopted one of the girls from the Orphanage. He lost her in a month when he foolishly brought her to the Sir Prize. Sullivan told him she was dead, but I knew she was snatched up and given to Cohen for his child trafficking ring.

I followed her to Fort Frolic.

She walked clear into Fleet Hall, her gaze flitting around the room at the art decor and the box seats almost like she was picturing crowds. She inhaled deep and started to sing a tune I had never heard. I matched none of the records brought down with the citizens or made by Sander Cohen or produced by Silas Cobb. Not even Grace had sung this song. ' _You belong to me'_ were the spat.

" _LOUDER_!" Came the voice of none other than Sander Cohen.

Elizabeth sang louder, turning to face the direction of the dressing room that overlooked the entire Fleet Hall. I could see Sander Cohen leaning over the side, listening to the new woman. For once he looked intrigued at what he was listening to and even I had to admit that Elizabeth had a set of pipes on her. Cohen appeared at the entrance to the Hall and flourished his dress jacket's tails, descending the incline to where Elizabeth stood. "Wonderful! Simply divine, my little songbird!" He dramatized, flitting around her like a bee.

Elizabeth gave a small bow and made the fakest looking joyful smile I had ever seen. Cohen fell for it. "Sing for me, my little songbird. Be my disciple and together we'll _finally_ bring the art of vocalization back to these dreary halls. The other were... lacking and borish, but I have _other_ uses for them," He rambled on, hooking Elizabeth's arm with his and leading her away.

I left Fort Frolic still trying to figure out what just happened.

* * *

"Ryan is nothin' but'a tyrant! Keepin' us trapped 'ere while he takes ov'a everything we've ever aspired to achieve!" I heard someone shout over loud cheering from a crowd of people. I was at my window in an instant, Patrick right behind me. A man was standing on the top of a service station addressing the people surrounding him, his arms moving dramatically, his body physically moving to face different portions of the crowd. His cap covered a mess of dark hair while he was dressed in a starch, white shirt, black trousers, fisherman's gloves and work shoes. He looked like any other fisherman working in Fontaine Fisheries if I had to put a summarized description of the man.

"Ryan thinks we don't exist down 'ere! That we're jus' a 'problem' that can be pushed under a rug. But we are 'ere! We are not a parasite to be exterminated! We are people with rights just as much as anyone." He paused for a moment, pacing on top of a notice board roof. "Rapture is fallin' apart. The system is failing! Ryan has ignored an' spit on us long enough! No more will we submit to his attack dogs! No more will be bow at his feet! No more! Rapture is our home an' we will fight for the right to live in her! Who's with me?!"

The people around him let out a huge cheer, chanting, "Atlas! Atlas!"

Atlas.

From the ashes of Fontaine's demise, from mere whispers, Atlas rose to be even more dangerous than Fontaine ever was when it came to openly speaking out against Ryan and actively working toward taking down Ryan. He took advantage of the poor houses and orphanages to rally the underprivileged against Ryan. He was building an army in those poor houses - a room filled with fireworks would be the equivalent and all it would take is one match to set off a big bang.

Fontaine didn't seem overly inconvenienced by his own demise: a few guerilla attacks had occurred on Ryan's security team and a few Little Sisters getting gutted for their ADAM slugs by Atlas' militia and that in return had people lining up down the block for Plasmids to protect themselves. Everyone splicing their mothers up to protect themselves from whose ever side they were one: Ryan or Atlas.

The man had balls, I'll give him that. And he knew how to keep himself hidden from the public eye. He hid out mostly in the poor houses as my information goes, but I was not inclined to tell Andrew Ryan anything. I had asked Sinclair what he thought of Atlas and he only said that he didn't care what happened as long as he was making money.

"My pa's down there," Patrick suddenly said.

Sure enough, there was a matching head of blond hair, a big gruff man who worked in Hephaestus and, definintely, was Patrick's father.

I placed a hand on his upper back. "Do you want to go see him?"

He shook his head. "He left me at that place. Said I deserved a better life. And I've got it, with you, Ma."

"You know I'm not your real mother."

Patrick grinned cheekily. "I know. But you've been so kind to me. Taking care of me and making sure I'm safe. Just like a ma would." This little shit was making me soft. I smiled warmly and tucked him under my arm. He was still considerably smaller than myself, the growth spurt not having kicked in (that was research Sinclair would never let me live down if he found out).

"I wouldn't know how a mother would act."

"You're not your ma. You are Jamie. Not Dusky," He stated like it was obvious.

"Whatever you say, kid." I patted his back and left the window. "I have to report to Sinclair. You want to come with?"

"Yes, ma'am!" He grinned.

Just as we started to make our way past the protesters, they scattered like mice when a whistle sounded off. It was Sullivan and his boys, beating down anyone they could grab. Patrick's grip on my sleeve disappeared, and I frantically grabbed for him as the crowd pushed him further and further from me. "Patrick!" I nearly screamed, shoving through people.

Arms wrapped around my waist, picking me clear off the ground and slamming me into the hard pavement forcing my arms around my back. I kicked and squirmed against my captor but it did little to affect him as he was putting handcuffs on me. "Got another one, boss!" He called back, hoisting me to my feet.

Sullivan circled me and the other citizens they had caught. "Make things easier on yourselves and tell us about Atlas," He stated as he twirled a baton.

"Fuck you!" Some stupid man shouted, spitting at Sullivan's feet. As expected, he was met with a strike from the baton that knocked the wind out of him from the choking noises he made.

"Anyone else?" I glanced around to see if Patrick was among the captured, but found he was gone. Maybe he escaped and was hiding nearby. A woman could hope...

They dragged us unceremoniously through Apollo Square, being sure to let us see our fate should we try and cover for Atlas, but I was screwed in that case. I knew nothing about him, and I had tried to figure out who he _really_ was. One of the captives managed to break free and run, only to be gunned down without warning. They left his corpse there to rot.

Fontaine Fisheries came into view and so did the cold. I struggled and kicked harder remembering that this was where Timmy H. had been electrocuted along with so many others. I refused to die here like them, die like a damn dog.

The back room held a thin layer of ice along the walls and floors meaning this was once a small freezer. In the center of the room was a table with a smaller table next to it and a chair off to my left. The man holding me drew a knife from a sheath on his belt and went to work slicing off my clothes. He cared little for the clothing adorning my body, but I willed myself to stay still to prevent him from slicing into my skin.

Leaving me in nothing but my bra and underwear, he slammed me into the large table in the room cut to hold a person with their arms stretched out. I kicked at his hands and my legs were slammed painfully to the table. He produced a rope from his bag and tied it around my legs to hold them still. My arms were next, the ropes biting painfully into my wrists.

I was left there for what seemed like hours, shivering uncontrollably. I didn't bother screaming for help since I knew no one would save me just like the others I could hear screaming down the hall. One by one the screams were silenced as each person finally succumbed to their injuries. Mr. Fuck You was the last one to die - Sullivan took his time with him.

Sullivan finally showed his face with a carryall clutched in his hand, already stained with blood. He set it down on the small table besides me and opened it up to reveal a variety of different tools and knives. The knife became his choice and gleamed under the lone light in the freezer. An Accu-Vox came out next and he pressed the record button. "Interrogation of..." He trailed off. "What's your name?"

"Piss off!"

"Interrogation of 'Piss Off', follower of Atlas. Interview conducted by Chief Sullivan of Ryan Security," He said mockingly.

It was a simple request he gave, "Tell us where Atlas is and this will be over quickly."

I didn't know where he was. He frequently bounced between poorhouses to keep out from the radar of Ryan's attack dogs while others willingly threw themselves in the way. He was new, unpredictable and it was hard to keep track of him since he did bounce around so much.

"I don't know," I answered strongly in hopes that he'd let me go. Fat chance in hell, but it didn't hurt to try.

"Like we haven't heard that before. How about I give you a taste of what's to come for you..." Sullivan circled me with an observant and perverse gaze as the knife - freshly sharpen - twirled aimlessly between his fingers. This was going to hurt to try. He held tight to the handle quickly and sliced along my thigh. I bit down on my bottom lip to keep any form of pained noise from coming out; I would not give Sullivan the satisfaction of hearing me scream. "Same question."

"I don't know," I said glaring at him, my breathing becoming heavy.

The blade danced over my left arm and sliced in a slightly diagonal direction.

He grabbed my braid roughly and jerked my head up putting a strain on my arms. "This will be easier if you just tell me. You think I enjoy carving up a pretty girl like yourself? Tell me where Atlas is." He slammed my head back down and I grunted.

"And I'm telling you: I don't know! I've never met Atlas. He's just a guy who riots outside of my apartment building." Another slice, connecting the first one and going diagonally in the opposite direction. I let a hiss of pain out that time.

This line of questioning continued until an A was carved into my arm, followed by an L, a T, another A and an S. Sullivan had _carved_ ATLAS into my fucking arm just to get me to talk about someone I knew very little about. He dumped a bucket of salt water over my body and I finally screamed when the salt entered my lacerations. "I swear!" I screamed. "I swear I don't know!"

My whole arm felt like it was on fire from the lacerations, deep enough to scar, but not deep enough to sever any veins. Each cut was worse than the previous as Sullivan's anger got more and more predominant, I thought for sure I was going to die from the shock or drown if he kept dumping salt water on me that tasted like death and fish.

The only break I got was when he had cut into a different part of my body, but it only added to the pain I was in. He even carved a line into my cheekbone. I had felt the blade scrape along the bone of my skull. "What should I carve into the other?" Sullivan asked the tip of the blade poking into the palm of my right hand piercing ever so much. "Parasite? Death? Take your pick. Unless you want to talk to us about Atlas."

"Please..." I begged, tears flowing down my cheeks. "I don't... I don't know where 'e is. I've never even met Atlas. All I know is he's some Irishman from the Fisheries. He bounces between the poorhouses too much for me to know where he is!" I jerked and screeched at the top of my lungs as the knife sliced clear through the meat of my hand between my thumb and pointer finger, stabbing into the table below me.

"You're not doing yourself any favors by protecting Atlas."

"I'm not protectin' 'im," I wailed. My body trembled uncontrollably, begging for release or death, but at this point the line between them was muddled. He left the knife where it was impaled, moving back to his carryall to dig around for another tool. "No, no, no, puh-puh-lease." My head fell back with a thunk as the hyperventilating set in. I was going to die in here.

Sullivan nearly chuckled eerily as he pulled a hand-crank drill from the bag.

"Shit! I swear to fuckin' god! I don't know! I'm not a part of 'is fuckin' army. I was just on my way to work!"

I made the mistake of squirming as the knife in my hand scraped against the small bones of my hand. I licked pitifully at my salty cracked lips, tasting the copper of the blood flowing down my face.

Sullivan quirked an eyebrow. "Where do you work?"

I couldn't breathe after I muttered, "Sinclair..." I wanted it to stop, I wanted the pain to end. I couldn't take it anymore. "I work for Sinclair!"

"Sinclair?" Sullivan questioned. "Why would Sinclair have anything to do with you?"

"I'm tellin' you the truth. I'm not involved in this stupid f-fight. I'm not _with Atlas_." I couldn't control my sobs now.

Sullivan mused over what I had said. "If Sinclair really was interested in you, wouldn't he be here vouching for you?" Shit.

"He doesn't even know I'm here! You took me off the street! How is he supposed to-" He punched me in the mouth, loosening a few teeth. I sputtered and spit out what blood I could so it wouldn't choke me nor would I have to swallow it.

Sullivan finally left for a few minutes (to take a piss). The cold air overtook my body once again making me shiver as my sweat started to freeze to my skin. I hated this war; I hated it with everything I had. I hated Ryan, I hated Atlas, I hated the splicers, I hated Sullivan. I just wanted to go home, to go see Sinclair, to do my work without a single hitch. I just wanted Patrick to be safe, for Grace to be safe. Was that so much to ask?

God truly has abandoned me.


	15. Chapter 15

I didn't even realize I fell unconscious.

Maybe all the blood in my body had finally frozen over and succumbed to hypothermia. "Ma!" I heard someone exclaim, but it was muddled like I was underwater or in a wide open empty field. I couldn't tell the difference anymore. The dark recesses of my mind enclosed on me, wanting to claim me in eternal slumber. Maybe then my torment would be over. I wouldn't have to scream anymore. No more Sullivan. No more Rapture. No more Atlas. Absolutely nothing. "Ma!" There it was again. It sounded like Patrick. Why was he here?

I became aware of someone doing compressions on my chest, stopping every few pumps to force air into my lungs. I vaguely wondered who's lips were this soft against my cracked and salty ones. Poor bugger. A few more of the repetitions and all the blood and bile rushed out of my throat, causing me to flip over on to my side and retch on to the floor. A hand gently rubbed my back, whispering soothing words to calm me down. I laid back down, limp and dizzy. I glanced at my right hand with a hole straight through the center. Someone pulled the knife out while I was unconscious. Probably for the best since I would have screamed when it was pulled out. _If_ it ever was pulled out.

A hand touched my face gently like it was made of paper. It was enough to jerk me back into the hellish pain my body screamed with. I looked up expecting to see the swollen ugly mug of Sullivan, thinking the sick bastard revived me since he wasn't done with me yet... Instead... I nearly started crying again: Sinclair. Augustus fucking Sinclair was standing over me, looking terrified, probably thinking I had actually died. Now that I think about it... I did die. I stopped breathing which stopped my heart. "Jamie," He sighed in relief.

He jerked off his jacket and laid it on my body. "Who in the hell did you think you had?" Sinclair snapped at Sullivan who backed up at the tone. Sinclair rarely was angry, so for him to snap at people was a bit of a shock for Sullivan. I took a moment to look at my torn up body, nearly every body part had 10+ cuts into them and the 'ATLAS' carving bled and seemed to glare at me. I sobbed - I would rather die than go through another round with Sullivan.

My undamaged arm held Sinclair's jacket to my chest. "I'm sorry, darlin', this shouldn't have happened," He whispered placing a kiss on my sweaty and salty forehead.

Sinclair gingerly helped me off the table and Patrick was standing there waiting. Oh god, Patrick, I'm so sorry you had to see this. Augustus helped my arms into the sleeves of his jacket and buttoned it up for some form of decency before tucking me under his arm, grimacing at how I shook. Patrick looked up at me with the most distraught look and I held my arm out for him to tuck under. He did so gingerly, holding on to the back of Sinclair's jacket.

"Touch her again, I dare you," Sinclair threatened, shoving past Sullivan who held a look of complete astonishment.

The Fisheries was still as cold as I remembered, but with the lack of clothes and the fact I had no shoes on made my body painfully aware that the Fisheries was covered in a thin layer of ice. "We're almost out, darlin'. Hang on."

I gripped tightly to Sinclair's shirt, pressing my body into his side to try and warm myself up more in the cold air. When my steps became unstable, Sinclair swept me off my feet and carried me the rest of the way.

The realization hit me then at how lucky I was. Barely anyone had gotten out of Sullivan's interrogation sessions alive, most dying of extremely painful torture methods to get the information he wanted. Like Timmy who was shocked to death to get him to flip over Fontaine, but Timmy's fear of Fontaine kept him from saying anything other than for Sullivan to do his worst because Fontaine could do double what Sullivan could do. Or Anya who was worked over before she ended up pinned to Ryan's wall. I probably would have stayed dead if Sinclair didn't come for me because Sullivan would have taken my 'I don't know' for protecting the whereabouts of Atlas. If I was someone like Camille Adler, I probably wouldn't have been strapped to that table because people would notice if a resident of Olympus Heights suddenly disappeared. Someone who lived in Apollo Square or Pauper's Drop would never be noticed, just another body in Rapture's wake.

I didn't even know where Sinclair was taking me, I just held to his shirt tightly with my mind blank. I didn't even respond to a doctor who did the examination of my wounds, cleaning them with a disinfectant that I couldn't even feel. He was appalled by the name carved into my arm and did his best to fix it to prevent scarring, but I knew I'd have 'Atlas' carved into my arm for the rest of my life. Or until I broke down and resorted to calling Steinman and getting surgery to fix it, but it'd be a very cold day in Hell when that happened. Patrick stayed at my bedside holding my uninjured hand tight, trying to hold back tears.

After the third day, the doctor pulled off his gloves and turned to Sinclair to discuss my condition. "The numerous lacerations should close in a two or three weeks, but she has to avoid excessive activity to prevent them from opening again. I've done my best to repair them in a way that won't scar, but there will be thin scarring left behind after it all heals up. With some corrective surgery, she can get rid of the scarring. She has to keep putting this disinfectant on. Her hand can be repaired, but she must keep the bandages on them and change them often," The doctor handed Sinclair a bottle of disinfectant. "There has been no damage that we can see from when her heart stopped. She'll be fine neurologically. Unfortunately, some of her ribs are cracked, but if she's careful they should heal quickly. She can go home now. Just sign these release forms."

Sinclair nodded, signing the papers and walked over to the table Patrick and I sat on. The doctor was kind enough to retrieve an extra uniform that the nurses wear including shoes so I didn't leave here in nothing but the jacket, but I still wore Sinclair's jacket taking comfort in the spicy smell of his cologne. "C'mon, sweetheart," He ushered, wrapping his arm tight around my shoulders, gesturing for Patrick to stay close.

We crawled into the bathysphere, but instead of pulling the lever to Apollo Square he pulled it to Olympus Heights. I looked up at him a little confused and he smiled. "I'm goin' to pull all the stops and make you a grand Southern meal. A nice home cooked meal, something you can't really get in Rapture." Except at the Fighting McDonagh's Tavern when McDonagh was behind the bar. "I already had a catfish marinatin' in the fridge for about half an hour now. I'll make you a delicious Southern fried catfish." He turned to young Patrick who hadn't said a word since we left the Fisheries. "How's that sound, kid?" Patrick nodded. He talked about the dinner plans until we reached the bathysphere station.

I had never seen much of the inside his apartment in Olympus Heights, preferred to stay out of the rich neighborhood because God only knows what I'd hear behind closed doors. I only came here when I had to, but again, that was slim. Normally I would have put up a fight about going to Olympus Heights, but I just did not have the energy to argue about it and just let Sinclair lead me.

The bathysphere docked at the bathysphere station connected to Olympus Heights and we stepped out. Once again, Sinclair had his arm around my shoulders and guided me to his apartment, Patrick the ever silent guardian. We had passed Camille Adler's apartment on the way and I almost smiled at the mild irony: She was trying to find out who I was and I was walking right past her door, right under her nose. Sinclair stuck his finger into the genetic lock and flinched when it pricked his finger, unlocking the door. He pushed it open and allowed me to enter first. "Welcome to my home."

Like Olympus Heights, Augustus Sinclair's apartment was the finest that money could buy with a homey Southern tone to it with the exception of a few black leather sofas like he had brought the furniture down with him from the surface. The apartment even smelled of wood and that country breeze I had grown up with living in the UK on my grandfather's orchard. I could almost feel the breeze brush through my hair with the smell of fresh apples from the trees. My mother hated living with my father's parents, but I absolutely loved it: the 10 acres they owned that I used to run almost every day, eating apples whenever I got hungry, playing with the bloodhound my grandparents named Brutus. Those were happier times, too easily forgotten in the growing nightmare of Rapture. It was memories like those that kept me going.

Sinclair set me down on the black leather sofa, the white of my skirt a sharp contrast to the black of the cushions. Patrick immediately took the seat beside me, holding my hand like I would break. The poor kid was probably traumatized. I nearly laughed: worrying about the kid when I'm the one who had knocked on Death's door and ran. I gently stroked his hair, giving him a weak smile. "Are you okay?" I finally asked and that seemed to break him.

The sobs erupted and he laid his head on my thigh, crying into the skirt. "You were _dead_. You started choking when we arrived! Mr. Sinclair tried to help you, but you were too strong! And then you stopped moving!" His fingers clenched the fabric of the skirt as he effectively soaked it with his tears. "Your heart stopped!" He wailed.

I pet his hair, soaking in what he was telling me - I _died_ in front of him. I choked and died right as he entered the room. "I'm sorry," I whispered, pulling his head against my abdomen. "I'm so sorry you had to see that."

"I thought it was _my fault_. I ran and hid when that... _bastard_ grabbed you." He swore for the first time. "Ma, I'm so sorry."

I made him sit up so I could look at him. "No! No, it is _never_ your fault. The fault was mine. _I_ got caught. _I_ allowed myself to be taken so easily. You did the right thing. I assume you went and got Sinclair?" He nodded, sniffling. "Then you saved my life. _You_ did that." I kissed his forehead and allowed him to lay down again.

Sinclair stood by the gramophone and plucked a record from the stack he owned. The gramophone crackled to life when he flipped it on and set the needle gently on the record and swayed slightly to the first track of the Ink Spots with the song _I'm Making Believe_ featuring Ella Fitzgerald. He gave me a smile and walked back over, holding out his hand. "Can I burden a lady for a dance?" He said as smooth as a bourbon.

I rolled my eyes and pulled off his jacket, resting it on the arm of the sofa. The boy flipped to the other side of the couch, using the armrest as a pillow. I took his outstretched hand and allowed him to pull me up. I blushed when he placed a small kiss on my knuckle in a small gesture of something I didn't know, but hoped it was out of romance. Romance... I couldn't believe the topic had come up in my mind. What would Sinclair want with a little duct-rat like me? It's not like I was proper housewife material. I'd drive myself nuts being cooped up in a house all the time while Sinclair went to work. Plus I would now be covered in unsightly scars, not presentable in public.

He wrapped his arm around my middle to keep me close to him and held out my right hand. I rested my free hand on his shoulder and my head pressed against his collarbone as he led the little dance in the middle of his sitting room. "Are you all right?" he asked, referring to my lacerations.

"I'm fine. Just let me enjoy this moment," I whispered contently. I felt him chuckle and continued to sway back and forth with me, slowly moving in a circle.

Sinclair spun me around before dipping me down for the finish to our little dance, a grin spread across his face. I laughed as I was pulled up straight again. My son (that's a strange phrase) started to clap. "Been a while since we just danced," Sinclair pointed out his eyes never leaving my own.

"The Kashmir, yeah."

He chuckled and spread away from me, departing to the kitchen to get the meal prepared. Sinclair poked his head out of his kitchen after a while and said, "Almost ready. Can you be a good lad an' set the table?" Patrick rushed over and grabbed the small stack of plates and silverware. He meticulously placed each item in its corresponding place (or at least what he thought was the right place) and took a seat beside me, looking at me with a small smile.

Sinclair came out a few minutes later with a plate of his Southern fried catfish and gave me a healthy portion before serving himself and Patrick.

Before he could sit down, he was distracted by a loud knock at his door. "Who would be here at this time?" He questioned giving me a curious look.

I shrugged and took a bite of the food. I almost moaned at the taste: Sinclair was one hell of a cook.

He left the dining room and answered the door. "Why, Miss Camille," I heard him greet. Patrick's eyes got wide. He reached over and gripped my hand, wondering if we should run. I shook my head - even if I wanted to run, I wouldn't have the strength to. "I... Well, I don't quite know what to say. Did we have something on tonight?"

"Are you busy, Augustus?" Her voice came through slurred. She'd been drinking all right.

He was careful, like handling a grenade with a loose pin. "Well, I'm jus' in the middle of dinner, honey. But I've got time for you."

"No, you're busy. I won't take up too much of your time then."

"Honey?"

"Give me back my tape recording." There was a bite to her tone. Heh, I thought she wouldn't have noticed it was missing, being as high as she was, but I give her credit for remembering.

"What recordin'?" I almost regretted taking it, because now she was blaming Sinclair for it.

"Don't play dumb with me!" She snapped. "My recording. The one where I - where I talked about Fontaine. And me."

"Honey, I have no idea what on _earth_ you're talkin' about. Honest."

"You had that slimy little _spy_ go into my apartment and _retrieve_ that recording for you!" Well the cat was out of the bag, but really? Slimy? I'm not sure whether to laugh or take offense. Aside from my 'interrogation' session with Sullivan, I've been pretty clean thank you very much, Miss Camille. "I _know_ you did! I _know_ she's been in my apartment.

Sinclair was silent.

"Give it back. _Now!_ Or have you passed it along to Chief Sullivan, hmm?" The 'ATLAS' carving in my arm burned at Sullivan's name. Please, like I would do that. I'm not that heartless, not after what that bastard did to me.

"Miss Camille, you are causin' a scene, and to be frank, I don't appreciate it. Now, I don't know anythin' about a recordin', or Sullivan, or _anythin'_ that you're on about. I'm not sure what makes you think I sent someone to your home-"

"You enjoy mocking me, that's why! You enjoy mocking me about Fontaine! Your cryptic little comments from today about me and him and his death - that's where you get your kicks, right?" His kicks? "So what? Who cares what I thought about Fontaine? It's _nobody's goddamn business."_

"I don't enjoy mockin' you, darlin'. I am _genuinely_ concerned about you _because_ I know how much he meant to you." Understatement. I've been feeling the brunt of that concern for a few years now. It's not fun watching a girl drink most of the time and examine paperwork. _So_ much excitement all right.

"Is that why you've had someone watching me for God knows how long? Because you _care_?" Yes. "And you know what? I found out about it and I let it slide. I thought, I shouldn't ruin our friendship and our working relationship over something like this because _you're too important to me._ I thought, he probably has his reasons for paying some orphan from the Drop to watch me. Then I find out that she's been in my _apartment_ , taking my _things_!" That was only once, for your information, Miss Camille. "Then I thought, _why_ have I been ignoring this, pretending like nothing was wrong? Like an _idiot_! Go on, Mr. Sinclair, deny it!"

I rolled my eyes and enjoyed Sinclair's food. "I won't deny it, Miss Camile," Sinclair said making me smile. Fate had a sense of humor. "I had someone watchin' you."

"Why?!" She cried out. "I was _good_ to you! I _trusted_ you! And for what? So you can sell me out to Sullivan," I twitched at his name again. Patrick squeezed to calm me down. "or Ryan at your earliest convenience?"

Sinclair snorted a laugh. "No one's gonna sell you out to _anyone_ , Miss Camille. So you can put _that_ right out of your head, thank you very much. As for the reasons why I had you watched, well, I reckoned you were one worth watchin'. Is that such a bad thing?"

There was a long pause of silence. Sinclair: 1, Camille: 0. "Just give me back my tape, OK?" She muttered, sniffling to hold back tears.

"I don't know how many times I have to tell you this, darlin', but I don't have your tape. I don't even know what tape you're talkin' about!" He paused. I smiled, knowing where this was going. "But I know exactly who to ask." The door closed after a moment and multiple footsteps entered the apartment. "Now, I wasn't exactly countin' on this happenin' _tonight_ but, well, you've twisted my arm, honey. Dinin' room's through there. Be gentle, Miss Camille, she's had a hard day."

"What are you talking about?" She asked, but Sinclair said nothing.

I smiled as Miss Camille entered through the archway and stopped right as her eyes fell on me. Her makeup was a little smeared probably from wiping at it with her gloved fingers, but how else was she going to look when finally confronting me.

Sinclair came in and stood at a decent enough distance from the emotional woman staring me down which I did not reprimand him for it. There is an emotional woman: whether or not this turns into a catfight remains to be seen. And it's an unspoken rule among men to _never_ get in the middle of women brawling. I was content enough for it to be a stare down, my body too much in pain as it was.

"Hawkeye," She murmured with a smirk.

"Miss Adler," I said. My face hurt when I tried to smirk.

"Where is it?" She demanded, her smirk disappearing.

After the all the years of being followed by me earned her some honesty from me. The woman was already emotional as it was, no need to provoke her. "Not here. At my apartment."

"Where is your apartment then?"

"Apartment 26, Artemis Suites."

She seemed taken back by it. "Artemis Suites? I would have thought-"

"That with having a friend like Sinclair I'd be put up in Olympus Heights. No, I requested that I get an apartment in Artemis Suites."

"Requested?"

I waved a hand at her. "I'll explain everything when we go. But for now, I wish to enjoy the food. Sinclair didn't slave over a stove just for me to leave in the middle of the meal. Besides, I don't have any dinner for Patrick at home." She was suddenly aware of the boy sitting beside me.

"You? You were at the prison," She blinked like he was going to disappear.

He nodded. "I'm Patrick McManus. Nice to be able to say hi to you."

I stood up and walked past her into the kitchen, taking note of our differences in height. I opened a cabinet and pulled out another plate and grabbed another set of silverware from the drawer before heading back into the dining room. "Eat something. I can hear your stomach."

She unconsciously rubbed her hand over her stomach and reluctantly sat down in front of the plate. Sinclair served her a helping of the catfish and sat down to enjoy his own plate. The tension was so thick one could cut it with a knife... poor analogy. She asked very few questions - all directed at Sinclair who I could tell was trying to be friendly and not make this whole situation any more awkward than it could. I admired him for it since he was treading on dangerous waters. I wasn't like most women, but Camille was and I was sure if she was in the mind she would be up for a scrap.

I helped Sinclair clean up the dishes. Patrick and Camille waited for me by the door, Camille ignoring him in favor of a cigarette. After I deposited the plates into the sink, Sinclair pulled me into a comforting hug and I winced when he squeezed a little hard on a laceration on my side. "Sorry," He mumbled into my hair, but didn't release me. "Thank you, for this. Why _did_ you take the tape?"

"To get her to confront you about me."

Sinclair held me out at an arm's length. "You... _wanted_ her to know about you?"

"She already knew. It was only a matter of time before something pushed her over the edge to get her to confront you. I just gave her a shove."

Sinclair rolled his eyes and kissed my forehead. "Do that again and I just might fire you."

"You need me too much to do that," I pulled away from him. "See you tomorrow, Augustus."

"Be careful," He warned. "If you won't be careful for me, at least be careful for Patrick. That poor boy came screamin' into my office, I could barely understand him. I'd rather not see you in that state again nor Patrick when he thought his ma was dead."

I chuckled slightly. "Everyone seems to be calling me his mother."

Sinclair placed his hand on the back of my head in a familial gesture. "That's because you are, darlin'. You care about him an' he cares about you."

Patrick eagerly jumped to my side when I approached him. Camille looked away, unsure of how to react. It probably wasn't what she was expecting when she finally met me. She'd have to get over it.


	16. Chapter 16

I could feel Camille's gaze on me as we walked to Apollo Square in a relatively awkward-as-hell silence (awkward for me at least), likely examining who the illusive Hawkeye was and trying to figure out if she had seen me before and how she had missed me. That's what I would've done at least. I would have expected more yelling or screaming, but she was quiet; only opening her mouth every now and again like she was going to say something but would stop herself. I guess she didn't think ahead to this point of the actual confrontation between me and her. I guess I could thank Sinclair for softening the blow that would have happened if we had met under different pretenses (myself being uninjured, Camille more sober, Sinclair more... Sinclair).

This wasn't how our meeting went down in my head: I pictured some big verbal fight in the middle of Sinclair's office from her walking in unexpectedly maybe with a few slaps thrown in my direction or in Sinclair's (which she wouldn't have gotten out of the office on her own two feet if that occurred) and a few things broken in the process. Then again my imagination does tend to run away with itself sometimes. I've had 5 or 6 years to get a really good imagination atop the King Pawn sign.

So this will have to do.

Camille stayed a few paces ahead of me and Patrick, either out of spite or the fact that I was slow with my steps. I couldn't tell which. It was a little strange walking with the woman who more than likely hated my guts and was more than likely plotting my demise as we speak, but I was more amused if anything. Camille Adler - the former secretary of Fontaine Futuristics, now the liaison between Ryan and Sinclair along with working in the Sinclair Solutions marketing and advertising department - was walking side by side with the infamous Hawkeye: the "slimy, little spy" and "orphan from the Drop". I suppose I've been called worse over the years. And now I was leading her to my apartment of all places; Fate had a morbid sense of humor. At least she didn't ask about the nurse's outfit I was wearing nor about Patrick... Yet.

My leg gave me a stab of pain in protest to being used so much and I ignored it. I needed more aspirin when I got to my apartment; another thing that changed since I started working with Sinclair: I've been taking a lot more aspirin for injuries and headaches. I tried my hardest to cover up my limp from the slice to the back of my leg, but Camille seemed to notice. "You're limping."

"Thank you, I realize that."

"Jesus, I was just saying." She stared down at the bandage wrapped around my leg, exposed thanks to the nurse's skirt. "It's bleeding," She pointed out again.

I stopped and twisted my leg around to see the bandage was, in fact, turning a  _lovely_  shade of crimson. "Shit..." I cursed, allowing only a little of my accent to bleed through.

"Do you..." She paused for a moment. "Do you need any help?" Her hand came to rest on my shoulder.

"No, it's nothing," I shrugged her off and attempted to to readjust the bandage, only to successfully make it worse. Patrick knelt in front of me looking decidedly more worried than before. "I'm okay, Pat. Just keep an eye out for anyone."

"You sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure. Let's just keep walking, okay? I'd rather not hang around here at this time of night." We continued as I made a valiant effort to lessen my limp. Showing any sort of vulnerability here would be a death sentence.

So that was the reason why she was keeping silent: I was covered in bandages from obvious injuries and Sinclair had warned her that I had a rough day - another bloody understatement. I smiled at Sinclair's warning to be gentle with me; that man was making me go soft. It was nice, though, to be able to talk to Camille for once instead of keeping an eye on her from the air ducts or discretely from a relatively close distance like that night she met with Stanley Poole. I couldn't vouch for her feeling the same, but she was at least civil and sober about the whole ordeal.

"I'm surprised you aren't asking me a million different questions," I was blunt. I hated the silence and the awkward questions she'd ask. Damn her concern about my injuries, they'd heal over time. The ATLAS carving would scar me for the rest of my life, but I'd deal with it on my own terms.

"I'll take a rain check on that. Tonight I'll settle for getting my tape back."

"I'm surprised you're not asking about the injuries."

"I didn't know how to ask without destroying the - uh -  _civility_. I guess I was brought up not to ask questions about that. If you want me to know, you'll tell me."

I scoffed at the notion, stopping momentarily to give her a skeptical look. "Miss Adler, I can take a lot of punishment - evidently. A few questions is not going to kill me. C'mon, give me your best shot." I scratched at the bandage around the ATLAS carving, reminding myself to put some disinfectant on it as well take aspirin. We continued on our way.

Camille sighed and dug into her handbag for a cigarette. She perched it between her lips and shifted around for a lighter. She paused after a few moments and looked at me. "Got a light?" I shook my head 'no'. She looked away for only a second before she asked again, "Incinerate, by any chance?"

"No," I scoffed. Like I would touch that shit.

"Oh, okay. Sorry. I just assumed... well, you've got a lot of scars. Sorry." She continued to rummage around in her bag until she finally pulled out a little silver lighter and lit the end of her cigarette. She took a long drag to relieve some of her nerves.

"You  _assumed_? I didn't get these scars from splicing, okay!" I damn near growled. "I wouldn't touch that ADAM shit on a million-dollar bet."

"I said I was sorry! Can you blame me?" She asked. "So, where  _did_  you get the injuries?" She finally questioned, once again eyeing each bandage that was exposed: my arm and my leg mostly since the rest was hidden under the nurse's garb and the high collar. "They look pretty bad."

My nerves were on end. Patrick squeezed my hand as comfort. "Sullivan."

She stopped puffing on her cigarette in an instant. " _Sullivan_  did this to you?" I was a little shocked at the surprise in her voice, but then again it really shouldn't have surprised me since she was a woman living in Olympus Heights that knew little of what occurred down here outside of her little incursion with Sinclair some odd years ago and to see Sofia Lamb and mostly kept out of trouble to avoid being on Sullivan's radar.

"Right place, wrong time, as that case was."

"Why did-" Her voice cracked a bit. She took a long drag on her cigarette to collect herself. "Why did Sullivan  _torture_  you?"

"He thought I was a supporter of Atlas. Atlas was making one of his damn speeches outside." My arms waved around like Atlas did when I watched him from my apartment window. "Sullivan and his boys show up, next thing I knew I was strapped to a table with Sullivan carving me up like a damn pumpkin and he's asking me to give up everything I know about Atlas." I shrugged and played it off even if it still scratched the back of my mind. I was foolish enough to get caught by Sullivan of all people despite how often I travel the air ducts and mingled among the upper class (reluctantly, but enough to make Sinclair happy).

"That man's a right bastard.  _He_  should be hung!" Patrick retorted angrily and rightfully so.

 _"Christ,"_  she murmured. She seemed a bit paler as the color drained from her face. "How the hell did you get out of there?"

Thinking of Sinclair coming to my rescue made me ghost a smile. "I was lucky."

We continued walking, Patrick walking further ahead, acting as a scout. He was small and would be relatively unnoticed by splicers since he's only a young boy - no ADAM. Everything we passed seemed to be plastered in those Atlas posters with the enduring question of  _WHO IS ATLAS?_  which drove me mad since I couldn't figure it out. I couldn't narrow it down to people who disappeared thanks to Ryan and Fontaine clearing out a fuck-ton of people making it impossible. There were a few Jane and John Does who were unrecognizable after the torment they endured. I really tried to find out who he was with nothing to show for my efforts. All I had was a moniker and the nameless figurehead.

The PA system crackled to life and the grating voice repeated, " _A Rapture Reminder! Public congregations of five or more people are strictly prohibited by city law unless otherwise approved by the Rapture Council. Remember, this is for_ your _protection._ "

Camille snorted at the 'Rapture Reminder'. "That won't stop Atlas. He'll keep drawing those big crowds, challenging Ryan to lock up more and more people - until there's no one left."

I couldn't have agreed more. "He's bad news. He's more likely to burn this city to the ground and kill us all instead of 'freeing us from the tyranny of Ryan'."

"That's, uh, an interesting opinion, coming from someone like..." Camille stopped herself but I knew what she was implying.

"Someone like  _me?_  A slimy duct-rat from the Drop with no prospects and no hope?" I finished sarcastically.

She visibly blushed. "I... well, I wasn't going to put it in  _those_  words."

I chuckled, throwing my head to sling my ponytail over my shoulder. "I may be part of Atlas' target audience, but that doesn't mean I'm going to line up to join that army he's building in those poor houses. He claims he's trying to save us all but no such goodness exists down here. It won't end well. It's either going to be Ryan or Atlas and quite frankly, I don't want either of them in power."

"So you want Sinclair in power?"

"Sinclair's a businessman, not a leader. Even if Ryan handed the key to Rapture to him, he'd only take it to sell it. He doesn't want that kind of power."

"How do you know that?"

I smirked only for it to drop when my face started to sting from the stitches. "I didn't spend this long studying people to be played for a fool. Sinclair's no different. He's a man who kills with kindness but has no patience for generosity. He looks for brand names from the writing on the wall which is why he has so many businesses that don't seem to coincide with each other other than the name on the title. Whatever sells, he's in the market for it. Being the leader of anything really would just be a hindrance to him if he's not making any profit." Camille remained silent after that.

We arrived at the front of the Artemis Suites and made our way up the stairs 2 stories. Patrick raced ahead to get the door for us. Camille looked around her with a small sense of nostalgia that I almost laughed at seeing just how far apart in the rungs of society we were - She looked at Artemis Suites with nostalgia and lived in Olympus Heights. I looked at the King Pawn with nostalgia and lived in the Artemis Suites. "I used to live here," She said softly.

"I know."

"Of course you do." She rolled her eyes. "Apartment 33. There was this really nice couple from Europe a few doors down. I couldn't pronounce their last name and they didn't speak very good English, but they used to invite me to their place for tea and cake sometimes. It was wonderful. We used to listen to music. Do you - do you know if they're still around?"

I grimaced. I knew that old couple. "There was a fire, a few weeks back, up on the third floor - " She cut me off.

"Enough said," She murmured, shaking her head. I guess she really liked that old couple. They were from Germany, escaping the desperate efforts of the Nazi Regime in 1945 when they were extended the invitation to come to Rapture to finish construction of it.

We came up to the door of my apartment and I gave a wry smile. "Home, sweet home." Patrick unlocked the door and held it open, allowing us to enter. "Thanks," I nodded at him, shutting the door once he was inside.

"Definitely different from when I lived here," She muttered under her breath, her heels clicking against the floor as she made her way slowly into the apartment.

"It's home. This way," I led her over to the bookcase and pulled out the hollowed book from the shelf. I opened it up and pulled out the little reel that had caused this to happen.

"I thought people only did that sort of thing in the movies," She grinned with a laugh.

I quirked an eyebrow. "Have you ever seen the looters taking books?" She clammed up, seeing the reason I hollowed out worthless books like the book I was currently holding which was a biography of Andrew Ryan. I didn't buy it to learn about our illustrious leader after all.

"So," She started, casually leaning against a wall. "If Sinclair's found you regular work, and I'm sure he pays you well, why are you here? Surely you could find a nice little place in a better part of town."

"I came from Drop, Miss Adler. I can't go from there to the top without people noticing. And getting angry. If I took an Olympus apartment from Augustus and then showed my face in the Drop for work, I'd be lynched before I would know what was happening. Don't think Augustus didn't try and persuade me but I asked to be here for my own safety." I shrugged. "And I supposed I did it so there wouldn't be any gossip. I'm sure there'd be a lot of talks if it got out that I started working for Augustus Sinclair and was moved from the floor of the Limbo Room to an expensive apartment in Olympus Heights. I don't want anyone to get the wrong idea."

"People would think you were a penthouse pet," She said with a slight nod. "Fair enough, I guess."

Having enough of the chit-chat, I held out the tape for her. "That's it? You're just giving it to me?" She asked, taking the reel from my hand and flipping it over for any damages. "Just like that?"

"Just like that."

"You didn't copy it and turn it over to Sullivan?"

"I've already voiced my feelings on Sullivan once. I wouldn't wish him on my worst enemies. 'Sides, Sinclair would skin me if I did something like that."

Camille nodded and shifted nervously where she stood. "I should head home."

I nodded in agreement and led her to the door. "Good night, Miss Adler."

She gave me a slightly forced smile. "Good night, Hawkeye. Thank you for my tape back. Recover quick, you are not off the hook yet."

"I'd be disappointed if I wasn't. Word of advice: burn whatever tapes you made before you came to work for Sinclair, including that one. Burn anything indicating that you Sullivan  _has_  been inside your apartment and he's itching to put you as a conspirator in Fontaine's smuggling ring. I've been able to use Patrick to get him out, but that won't stick for long."

She turned pale. "W-What?"

"He wasn't too pleased about the brush-offs and the vague answers you gave him. It looks like you're hiding something. I wouldn't put it past him to do to you what he did to me. By the way, if he ever asks: Patrick is your nephew." With a small swish of her pale yellow evening dress, she was down the stairs and out of sight. I closed the door and locked it again, resting my forehead against the cooled wood.

I never wanted to invite her into my apartment again.

Patrick exited his bedroom and stood beside me by the door. "What are you going to do now?"

"Keep her safe. That's the best we can do. I'll call Charles tomorrow and ask him to keep a closer eye on her, for her own safety." I patted his shoulder and sent him off to bed.

I wandered my way into the bathroom to take a better look at the bandage around my leg where the crimson stain had gotten considerably bigger since Camille had pointed out that it was bleeding. I shook my head and unwrapped it slowly wincing as it tugged at the skin around the wound. "Thank you, Sullivan. If you die: remind me to tap dance on your grave," I growled to myself opening the medicine cabinet and pulling out a clean roll of bandages and a bottle of disinfectant left over from the numerous splicer attacks I endured.

I bit down on my lip as I poured the disinfectant over the wound, ignoring the biting pain as best as I could as I started to slowly and tightly wrap the bandage around it. With a piece of tape and a cut from a pair of scissors I deemed it finished and went to check the rest. I stripped off the nurse's garb given to me and I nearly gasped at how much of my body was bandaged. The ugly stitched wound on my side was an angry red and sore to the touch, but I gritted my teeth and set to work.

The rest seemed fine from the movements thankfully except for the one around my forearm: the ATLAS carving. I stared at it for the longest time, debating whether or not to even unwind the bandage to change it. I didn't want to see it. I didn't want to see the reminder that it was the revolutionary's name carved into my arm over a misunderstanding with a man who resembled a snake in my eyes. I shook my head and left the items where they lie, making my way into the living room. I pulled my phone from the receiver and quickly said, "Hawkeye for Augustus Sinclair."

 _"Sinclair_ ," He greeted happily.

"Augustus, it's Jamie."

 _"Jamie! What can I do for you? Did Camille get what she came for?_ "

"Yeah, yeah, she did. But I have a favor to ask."

" _Anythin' for you._ "

"I... I need help on my bandages. Could you...?"

" _I'll be over inna few minutes, darlin'._ "

"Thank you, Augustus." I gingerly set the phone back on the receiver and sighed.

My hand had been shaking the whole time I was holding the phone, nervous about inviting Sinclair to my home when he was nice and toasty in his own, more than likely getting ready for a good night's sleep (as good as he could get since me and Camille were in each others' company alone without so much as a middle ground for us to stand upon. I think we handled it pretty well). I felt like a damn coward, not having the courage to even look at the carving and putting this burden on Sinclair.

I paced the sitting room repeatedly to the point where I swore I would burn a rut in the floor. I jumped to the door when I heard him knock and I answered the door. "I know the drill," He smiled and stepped inside, shutting it behind him and locking it for me. He was out of the clothes he wore earlier during our dinner and was now wearing a plain white long sleeve button up shirt and black trousers held up by his trademark overall straps. "You needed help?"

I nodded and held out my arm not giving it a glance in the slightest. He gave it a glance over before recognition came to him. "I see now." He smiled and took my hand in his. "C'mon."

He led me to my bathroom and sat me down on the toilet lid. "I can see your hesitation to look at it," He said unwrapping the bandage slowly. Finally, the letters were revealed and he clicked his tongue over it. "Gonna have to run that under the tap." He pulled my arm over to the sink and turned the faucet on, allowing hot water to wash over the slashes. My teeth gritted together at the heat but made no noise to worry Sinclair. "There," He murmured examining it closely.

He took the bottle of disinfectant and a nearby clean rag, soaking a corner of it and dabbing it as gently as he felt necessary. I could see his head shake at the carving but stayed silent thankfully. "You did a brave thing, takin' Miss Camille here. You hate it when I come unannounced riskin' a splicer seein' me and you together."

"She had been drinking. I wasn't going to provoke an intoxicated woman."

"She was pretty sober when you left."

I shook my head and smiled. "Sometimes it's nice to have a little change."

Sinclair smiled as well, his green eyes shimmering in my bathroom light. He finally wrapped the fresh bandage around my forearm and taped and cut it. "There. My best work, if I do say so myself." I stood up and got rid of the bloodstained bandages.

We walked back into the sitting room and Sinclair helped himself to a cigarette, puffing contently. I sat down heavily on the open spot next to him. "Why are you so good to me?" I questioned out of nowhere. I didn't even think about it; just asked. 20 seconds of bravery it seemed.

"Why? Hm..." He mused, scratching at his chin. "I don't know. I know I treat you better than I do with anyone I know really. I must really like you then."

"Like me?"

"Maybe even love you, darlin'."

"Love? You could have any girl in Rapture. Why me?"

"Why not?"

I chuckled harshly. "I'm some rough duct-rat from the Drop, as everyone is keen on describing me as. I'm covered in scars while the girls you could have are not. I'm too small, I'm a nobody. They're pretty and friendly and-" I was cut off by his lips pressing against mine for what seemed like forever even when it was only a few seconds.

"Believe me now, darlin'?" He asked playfully.

I was about to answer when I heard Patrick shriek, "Finally!"

"Go to bed, son," Sinclair called after him.

My one brief moment of happiness.

The calm before the storm.

November 8th, 1958


	17. Chapter 17

I inhaled deeply, letting the dull hum of the King Pawn sign calm my nerves. The bandages had been disposed of, revealing the scarred over skin they concealed. The ATLAS scar still burned at times, but at least it didn't look as gnarled and mangled. It didn't help the sleepless nights and scaring Patrick when I wake up screaming, but it was a start... A very, very small start. Patrick didn't say much about it which made me glad - the boy doesn't need to hear the horror I went through. Charles lent a helping hand and a sympathetic smile which was unnecessary, but that man was too good for his own health.

It had been over a month since the kiss, and I couldn't decipher what we were exactly: boyfriend/girlfriend seemed too asinine given our ages (24, 44, respectively) and I sure as hell wasn't his mistress. I wasn't his 'other half', and he wasn't mine. Romance, emotions, it was all foreign and slightly unpleasant. I'm just glad he's never asked for sex from me because I wouldn't be able to give it to him when he demands it. It's not that I can't have sex, it's just that I don't want to.

"Hawkeye!" I heard someone call out that wasn't Camille or Augustus.

I was floored at the sight of my person-of-interest: Elizabeth Comstock. I slipped behind the sign and out of sight, observing her. How in the hell did she know my nickname? Even more, how did she know where to find me? I had never made myself known to her throughout her entire time from when she arrived. She glanced around the plaza, and then I realized something - there wasn't anyone in the plaza. No one lined up outside the clinic, no one in the Limbo Room, there wasn't a soul anywhere. "I know you're here. Come out!" She called a little quieter this time.

Not wanting to let this woman continue shouting up a storm and drawing attention to myself, I slipped to the ground a few meters behind her. She was about to call out again when I placed my hand to her mouth and pulled her out of plain view to a small maintenance room with the door blown out. Two people were laying dead inside, but I paid them no mind. "How do you know who I am?" I demanded, pushing her into one of the nearby walls.

"That's my business."

I flipped my switchblade out, holding it a few centimeters from her throat. "Not anymore."

She didn't respond to my threat and instead continued with, "All I want is information." She helped herself to a stale fish and seashell cigarette. "Incinerate?" She asked, feeling around for a lighter. She didn't seem phased at the blade near her neck, so I backed off a few steps but kept the blade close.

"If you know who I am, you should very well know I don't use plasmids." She hummed and finally located her lighter.

"I'll cut to the chase then. I need to find Sally. Where she is and who is with her?"

"What? You couldn't get any information out of Cohen,  _little songbird_?" I mocked, pacing a few times.

She rolled her eyes at the name and started to pace in turn, balancing her cigarette between her fingers. "Cohen plays his frustrating games, and I'm running out of time."

"Well isn't that tragic. If you're done, you better be on your way." I turned to leave, pocketing my switchblade.

"I'll pay you."

"Not interested."

"Quid pro quo!" I stopped walking. Now I was interested.

I turned around to face her - noting the look of determination that graced her features. "What can you offer me?"

"You've been following me." My teeth ground together in annoyance. "You probably want to know where I came from."

I held up my hand with my thumb and pointer finger close together. "Only a little," I stated sarcastically. Of _course_ I wanted to know where she came from. "I know you  _somehow_  came through that  _portal thing_  in the Silver Fin. Maybe start with that."

She nodded in agreement. "It is a portal of sorts. It is a tear through time and space which leads to other universes."

"You've lost me."

"You don't need to understand since it's very complicated and filled with quantum physics and the extensive study of atoms. Just know it is a portal to another world - A world that I'm from: Columbia."

"Columbia? So Columbia is what we saw in that portal." Elizabeth nodded in confirmation. "Then why are you  _here_? Under the sea where it's dark and cold and in the midst of a civil war? Why leave that city for this one?"

"That city isn't any better-"

"Isn't it?!" I snapped. "I haven't seen the sun in over ten years. My skin is pale, almost translucent from the lack of the sun. There are things down here that would  _kill_ you without mercy!  ** _This_** is better than Columbia?!"

"If it's any consolation, you technically live in Columbia."

I blinked. "What?"

"Alternate realities means alternate people. It's how I know about you. I've encountered you in other universes. You have another you living in Columbia. A series of events brought you to be born in 1887 instead of 1935. You're named Amber."

"Amber...?" I shook my head and ran both of my hands through my hair. "You're saying there is another me living in your Columbia?" I paused, a question grating on my mind, "Is she happy?"

She seemed surprised. "I would think so, yes. She's a doctor, who mainly specializes in the care of children. She was my doctor."

I wasn't going to pretend to understand everything Elizabeth explained, but I understood this much: Amber Donovan was a doctor, not a slimy duct-rat like me who never had to know hunger, never had to know what pain is - I found myself envying her even though she was me.

"Sally's in the Fontaine Department building, but only Cohen can get you there. He's one of the few Ryan permitted to have access to the bathyspheres. How to convince him is up to you. Tread carefully: Atlas is there."

She nodded, giving a small thank you before walking off to disappear into Pauper's Drop. I never knew this would be the last time I'd see her... Alive.

* * *

_Dec 31st, 1958_

* * *

I hadn't seen Elizabeth for a few days, wondering if she had found Sally yet. I hadn't even gone back to the Silver Fin to solidify what she had said to me. Often I thought about Amber and her life, the life that I almost thought I was robbed of. If I didn't come here, would I have been a doctor? Would I have the family I always wanted? So many questions that would never be answered because this was my life and I was not Amber.

I jumped when a few dresses were shoved into my arms, and Camille stood in front of me with her own small stack. "Try these on. I think you'd probably look best in dark colors." That was a little problem we've been dealing with since I was small and thin with very little for curves that most women had. Camille had called my body "the adolescent body". Finding a dress for me was a little difficult, and I had the notion to shout 'screw it' to the whole thing, but an urge to impress Sinclair overwhelmed the 'screw it' notion. A few times though she had nearly seen the ATLAS carving which I wasn't even ready to see yet and I made it a point to find long gloves to cover it.

"Gloves," I lightly called out from behind the ornate folding screen.

"Beg your pardon?" Camille asked.

I leaned out far enough so she could see my face and shoulders but nothing lower. "I want some gloves. Long ones." I heard her shuffled around before the shop assistant wrap up what I assumed was the gloves I requested in tissue paper.

It was a tedious repetition that Camille had been forcing me to go through more than likely for her own sick amusement of watching me squirm in a dress. Her face didn't betray that my train of thought was her reasoning for making me put on dress after dress, but I couldn't help but think it. The gloves were the only thing bought from that store. We finally settled on a purple dress with bell sleeves for me while Camille purchased a red dress for herself. A feathered mask was bought for me while Camille purchased a bird-like mask that resembled the plague doctors during the Bubonic Plague. Jewelry was a pain since I hated jewelry - why would I wear a necklace that would give my opponent something to choke me with?

By the end of the whole tortuous experience, we both left the stores with a few bags in each hand and went our separate ways, Camille muttering something about an appointment.

I laid out the clothes on my bed once I got home. I took a long shower to scrub off the sweat and grime from working earlier this morning. I fumbled into the undergarments that Camille had made me buy (something about proper etiquette or some such. Rich person thing, I passed it off as) with a towel wrapped around my hair. I took the dress I had purchased off its hanger and slipped it on with a bit more ease than the undergarments. I picked up the next article of clothing: a pair of black gloves. I had only gotten them to cover up the carving on my forearm so I wouldn't receive that many stares aside from the scars on my shoulders and chest. Concealer would cover the ones on my face. The heels were a simple black color, and I skipped on jewelry despite Camille's crash-course lesson in 'Fashion of High Class Society Women'. I styled my hair in its braid and finally slipped on my mask; my mask was black as well with purple feathers sticking out the right side.

Patrick grinned when I stepped out of the bathroom and into my room where Patrick was sitting patiently on the bed. "Wow, ma!" He exclaimed, leaping up. "You look amazing!"

Gazing in the mirror, I hardly recognized myself: from duct-rat to someone could reasonably pass as someone from the upper class. It was screaming  _My Fair Lady_. "You think so?" I responded back, smiling a bit.

I spun around at a knock on my bedroom door. Sinclair let out a breath he was holding as his eyes trailed me up and down. He was dressed in a custom fit tuxedo for the New Year's Party; black overcoat, white waistcoat, white dress shirt, a white bow tie (slightly crooked which I adjusted), black trousers, and black polished leather shoes. His hair was slicked into it's normal style and dyed to be rid of the gray in his hair. His mask was black with gold figurines in the shape of mermaids decorating the top.

All in all, he was handsome, and a blush made it's way involuntarily to my face.

He took a few steps closer to me and said, "You look... beautiful, Jamie." I smiled genuinely.

"Thank you."

"Shall we?" He held out his arm for me to take. Patrick waved goodbye and retreated to his room for the night.

The party was in full swing by the time we arrived, people in masks everywhere. Sinclair presented his invite to the man guarding the door who gave me the stink eye. "It's okay. She's with me," Sinclair reassured, patting the man's arm. The man stepped aside and allowed us to pass.

Streamers, partygoers, and posters decorated the whole Kashmir Restaurant in celebration for the New Year's Eve Party. Cohen fluttered about, accepting praise and admiration for his performances at the Fleet Hall. 3 of his disciples sat in a booth a little ways off, each looking tired and bored with their green and red bird masks resting on the table. Kyle looked like he was sporting a nasty shiner (fresh, like he was either punched earlier today or yesterday) that Hector was trying his best to cover up with concealer no doubt swiped from Anna Culpepper. Silas patted young Kyle's hand in a supportive shooting glares in Cohen's direction meaning it was Cohen who gave the boy the black-eye.

Sinclair pulled me toward the bar where he had spotted Miss Camille standing, sipping gently on her gin and tonic. "Well hello, Miss Camille!" Sinclair greeted heartily, placing a hand on her shoulder.

Camille gave us both a welcoming smile, the alcohol already setting in and easing her mood. She was wearing a long dark red gown, strapless and straight across with long white gloves covering her arms. Her mask was a white long-nosed mask that reminded me of the Plague Doctors during the era of the Bubonic Plague. What caught me off guard was the bob cut she had done to her hair. It was nice, but a little alarming since I was used to her long blonde hair.

"Augustus, you made it. And don't you look handsome tonight," She nodded back. "Hawkeye. You polish up nicely." It was colder than ice.

"Camille," I greeted just as coldly.

"You two are a little late. You missed the show. Mr. Fitzpatrick was amazing as always, Mr. Rodriguez as well. Mr. Cohen seemed less than pleased though. Poor kid got a fist," She explained, gesturing over to the disciples at the table. "Haven't seen Mr. Finnegan though... Which is a shame. He's got a wonderful voice, so I've heard. He sings a lot of French songs."

I couldn't bring myself to ruin her good mood by telling her that Martin Finnegan had been locked in a freezer only a few days prior when he openly called Cohen a sham.

Sinclair ordered us a round of drinks before going to converse with a client of his, leaving Camille and me alone. "I guess now I can question you properly without Augustus hovering over my shoulder," She smirked puffing on her cigarette.

"I suppose you can." Might as well get this over with or else she'd never stop asking.

"Start with the basics: How long have you been in Rapture?"

I quickly did the math in my head and answered, "Ten, almost eleven years."

"How long have you been working for Augustus?"

"Five years."

"How old are you?"

"Twenty-four."

Camille looked a little confused then. "Really? I wouldn't have said that. You look young."

"Thanks," I replied sarcastically. "I'll take that as a compliment."

I sipped at whatever concoction Sinclair ordered for me and grimaced as it burned going down my throat. I set the glass down and pushed it away from me, leaning against the bar to look casual about it. Camille noticed the action and smirked. "Not a fan of whiskey?" She questioned taking the glass and swirling it around.

"Not one for alcohol."

"So it seems. I'm surprised really. It's hard to exist in this city and live a dry life. Moving on," She said tapping the end of her cigarette into an ashtray the bartender laid out for her. "Poole said you were an orphan. Are you?"

I shook my head. "I'd rather not say where my living relation is right now." Camille nodded and dropped the subject of my family. Knowing my mother, she was spreading her legs for a decreased rate since it  _was_  New Years for some john.  _So proud_! She's in Siren Alley, and I'm standing in the biggest party of the year in the Kashmir. I hope my father is proud at least.

"How long have you been watching me?"

"Three or four years. When you first became Fontaine's Girl, it drove me up a wall. You're boring, you know that?" I jested giving her a smirk.

Camille didn't find it as humorous. "Did you ever spy on Fontaine?"

"Hell no."

"No?"

I leaned closer to her. "There's a reason Fontaine is called 'the Boogeyman'. I didn't favor disappearing, Camille, so I left him well enough alone."

"Good."

Camille's questions were cut short when the TVs around the area came to life revealing a gray screen, then flashing to a sign that said, "Please Stand By." The party fell silent as the bartenders and security called for their attention. The scene then flipped to Andrew Ryan standing in his office with a big glass of wine in his hand. " _Good evening, my friends_ ," He started off. " _I hope you are enjoying your New Year's Eve celebration. It has been a year of trials..._ " Ryan looked down solemnly. " _For us all._ " He perked up again. " _Tonight, I wish to remind each of you that Rapture is_ your _city. It was your strength of will that brought you here and with that strength, you shall rebuild. And so, Andrew Ryan offers you a toast._ " He held up his glass of wine. " _To Rapture, 1959: may it be our finest year._ " The transmission cut out and the noise started up again.

"Finest year, my ass," Camille muttered taking another drink. I glanced around the room and noticed something...  _off._  Where were the guards? There was one posted at each entrance to the area and now they were strangely gone. Cohen flitted about on stage shouting about the countdown. The crowd shakily began to count down from ten while I tried to locate where the guards had gone.

On the balcony was a man with a bandage around his head. He was crouched with a walkie-talkie clasped in his hand, waiting... "TWO! ONE!" The man said something in the walkie and disappeared from view. There were several loud popping noises as the crowd cheered for the New Year. "What's with the firecrackers?" Camille questioned and the moment she said that I knew exactly what was happening.

"Those aren't firecrackers," I said slowly as the dots connected. The cheers quickly turned into screams.

It was a raid.

An explosion went off raining debris and bodies around them. Screams of the partygoers deafened the room as Splicers poured into the room, fireballs, ice chunks, and lightning bolts flying around the room. "Long live Atlas!" Some shouted as they struck down several guests.

"Death to Ryan!" Others shouted.

"Shit!" I cursed, reaching down and ripping my dress apart at the knees for more mobility. "Camille! Let's go!" I grabbed her wrist, pulling her toward me. I pulled her down to the ground as a guard fired in our general direction, and she seemed to snap out of whatever trace she was in. "I said let's go!" She quickly grabbed her purse and allowed me to lead her through the scrambling crowd of people, occasionally ducking as bullets joined the plasmids. I quickly spotted Sinclair trying to push his way through the crowd toward us. "Augustus!" I called, holding out my hand for him.

He grabbed hold of it tightly and pulled Camille and me closer to him. "What's going on?!" Camille nearly screeched grabbing my shoulder and shaking it.

"Hell if I know!" I shouted back. "But we have to get the bloody  _Hell_ out of here!"

We tried our hardest to push our way to the door through the mob of frantic people and violent splicers. Sinclair let out a yelp when a bullet grazed his arm. "Augustus! You all right?" I questioned giving his arm a quick once-over. It didn't look that deep, but I still worried.

He shrugged me off and said, "I'll be fine. Let's get out of here!"

I screamed involuntarily when a Splicer came seemingly out of nowhere and tackled me, trying to beat my head in with his pipe. A single gunshot to the head took him down, and I looked up at my savior: Camille Adler - her hand visibly shaking with the revolver clasped desperately in it. I shoved the dead body off my person and stood up. "Camille?" I questioned, gently placing my hand on top of the revolver and pushing it down.

"I-I... He was... I just shot him..." She was a mild state of shock from having actually killed somebody. "I've never shot anyone before. I've never  _killed_ anyone before."

I didn't dare try and wrench the gun from her death grip and just let her hang on to it. "I know. I thank you. He would have killed me if you hadn't shot him. But we have to run! Now!" I ordered looking back at the riot occurring in our wake.

We had made it to the foyer when more splicers descended upon us, laughing maniacally at our desperation to escape. "Where do ya tink you're goin' li'l fish?" They grabbed at Camille and me tearing at our dresses as we tried to get away.

Sinclair tried to fight them off, but was quickly shoved away and caught in the current of people escaping the Kashmir.

When one went for the zipper of Camille's dress, I planted a well-placed kick to his temple, sending him over the railing. "You will not touch her!" I shouted throwing my head back, smashing in my captor's nose. The reaction was instant, and my arms were free again. I spun around and jumped on the splicer's back, grabbing hold of his chin. With a twist, his neck broke, and he was down for the count.

"Dat bitch killed Unger!" Another splicer screeched, their attention no longer on Camille, but to me. Didn't think this one through...

I ducked from a wild swing of a pipe and smashed the palm of my hand upward to his chin, knocking the splicer back, but the victory was short-lived as another grabbed my arms and pulled them back. Suddenly I loved heels: the heel of my shoe stabbed down on his foot eliciting a sharp scream of pain. I grabbed his shirt quickly and threw him over the railing to fall to his death. I smirked triumphantly at my victory.

A pipe connected with the back of my head and went down hard, my vision going black.

"Hawkeye!" Camille cried out; her revolver pointed at the last Splicer standing. She fired three shots consecutively, each making their mark, the last a kill shot. She stuffed the gun into her purse and rushed over to where I lay, flipping me over on to my back. "Oh god... Hawkeye! Come on! Wake up! Don't be dead."

I gave a small moan but otherwise didn't wake up. Camille glanced around for any sign of Sinclair, before reaching for my arm. She pulled it over her shoulders and did her best to lift me up to drag me out. "Thank god you're tiny," She muttered, pulling me towards the elevators.

The riots had made its way out of the Kashmir and into the rest of Rapture it seemed since everywhere Camille went, she was met with fighting and people dying. With luck, she had made it to the Sinclair Tower and to Sinclair's office where she found him pacing the length of his office frantically. "Camille!" He exclaimed in relief before his eyes fell on me. "Jamie! Over to the couch, c'mon. Gently now." He rushed over and helped Camille set me on the couch. "Can you please get me some bandages? Water? Something to stop her head from bleedin'," He urged feeling the back of my head for any sign of skull fractures. "We'll have to get her to Steinman-"

"No Steinman," I moaned. "Just need rest."

Sinclair smiled in relief and brushed my bangs out of the way of my face. "Stubborn as always."

My hand reached for his arm which was still bleeding despite the rush patchwork he did on it. "This'll need stitches."

"You're hurt, Augustus?" Camille asked, finally noticing the makeshift bandage around his arm.

"Just a graze, honey, I'll be fine.  _I'll_  get stitches if  _you_  get your head checked out."

"Deal. Just... no Steinman."

"No Steinman," Sinclair agreed, helping me to my feet. Camille took my other arm, and both helped me to the bathysphere to head to the Medical Pavilion. I blacked out yet again.


	18. Chapter 18

If I had a glass of wine, I'd hold it up in a toast: To Rapture, 1959 - may it be the year we all successfully drown, freeze, set on fire, maim, and kill each other.

The prognosis of my consultation from the mouth of Dr. Andrews and a dumbed down version later from Sinclair after I had awoken a day later: concussion, mild fractures to my skull but nothing life-threatening, and I should experience headaches which is to be expected. They want me to stay in Medical Pavilion for a few days to monitor my brain's activity and to see if I experience any amnesia from the blunt trauma and to monitor for swelling. At least that was the gist of what I think Dr. Andrews was explaining to me. The medical terminology was a bit more impressive than 'monitor' and 'swelling'.

Medical red tape for an even simpler definition.

I had been changed out of my torn dress, gloves, underwear and stockings into a simple medical gown and my belongings put in a bag beside my bed during my state of unconsciousness (except for the dress which was promptly disposed of by a nurse since the dress was ripped and unwearable). When I had awoken, I was cold, and my medical dress/robe was hanging half off my shoulder, and Sinclair was sitting in the chair beside the bed with a newspaper in his hands, not at all paying attention to my wardrobe malfunction. Patrick was laying with his head on my stomach, twitching every now and then like he was having a bad dream.

Sinclair had left some time later with the groggy Patrick in tow. He left me the newspaper to see what had occurred in these few days after the New Year's Eve Riots when he departed for a meeting with Ryan.

_Attack of the Parasite Atlas!_

Sounded like the name of a horror movie from the surface.

It was a continuous war as the armies of Atlas and the armies of Ryan battled in the streets. The disenfranchised citizens in support of Atlas were also finding ways to take down the Big Daddies to get at the Little Sisters for the ADAM slugs in their stomachs. Even with the new and improved Big Daddies making their way to the streets (Bouncers and Rosies, they were called), it didn't deter Atlas' forces from taking them down; the protectors not enough to keep them from abducting the gatherers. They were brought down like elephants by a pack of hyenas. Ryan responded by having the newspapers label Atlas a 'child killer' along with other propaganda like him being a parasite among the most common of phrases.

The Kashmir was officially shut down from the damages of the splicers and bombings and some minor flooding of the lower levels. Ryan Amusements was also hit, cutting it off from Rapture. People were still trapped inside, but Ryan didn't seem to care about getting them out, only about Atlas. Bigger and better plasmids were hitting the markets for weapons that the people could use to defend themselves (an add from Sinclair Solutions called it the Home Consumer Rewards Program).

I set the newspaper down when I heard a small knock on my door. "Come in!" I called out, folding the paper in half and setting it on the rolling table beside the bed. I was shocked to see Camille pop her head in. "Camille? You just missed lunch... actually that might be a good thing."

"Glad to see you're awake," She said, carefully stepping into the room.

I could immediately see the purplish bruises on her arms from where the splicers had grabbed her, squeezing tightly to prevent her escape. She was wringing the straps of her purse nervously like she was about to confess to murder or something, looking at everything else but me. Killing those splicers didn't count since that was an act of self-defense so if she was here to call herself a killer: _I'd_ kill her.

"Yeah, well, the drugs keep me under most of the time," I shrugged leaning back against the propped up pillows. "I don't even know why I'm still here. I feel fine."

Camille's eyes fell on me finally, and she smiled a bit. "You're still here because you need your rest. You did take a pipe to the back of the head, after all."

I shrugged again, pinching unconsciously at the thin, scratchy sheets covering my lower body. Camille walked calmly over to the chair Sinclair had pulled up that morning and took a seat, shifting to get comfy. "I... I wanted to thank you - for doing what you did back at the Kashmir. I don't think we would have made it to the door if you hadn't been there."

My eyebrow cocked curiously at the thank you. Camille Adler, the woman who I'm pretty sure has had it out for me since day one: was thanking me. Commit this date to memory and nationalize it. But I couldn't take all the credit; I wasn't that egotistical. "I should be thanking you too, I guess. You did pull my unconscious body out of there. You had every right to just leave me there, but you didn't." I paused for a second. " _Why?_ "

Camille shrugged a little. "Well, I won't lie: the thought of leaving you _did_ cross my mind. But Augustus would have skinned me if I hadn't hauled your ass outta there." She mimicked my own words. She bit her bottom lip, kneading it between her teeth. She asked, "Could I see your arm?" I knew which arm she meant. I tucked my left arm against my abdomen to hide the carving. "Please, Jamie."

My eyes snapped to her face. She knew my name? Sinclair... he let it slip in a state of worry. _Oh Lord, Jamie_ he had said. I couldn't exactly reprimand him for letting it slip since he _was_ worried about my welfare and wasn't thinking straight.

I looked her over cautiously for any sign of ill-intent, but found nothing; just a mild concern and a curiosity. Why she wanted to see the carving on my arm I'll never know, but reluctantly I extended my arm for her to see. The immediate reaction from her was a sharp gasp. Her fingers lightly traced the letters, as if feeling was believing. "I can see why you wanted long gloves now..." She said absentmindedly. "Did Augustus see this?"

I nodded. "Who do you think came and got me out of there? If no one had come, Sullivan would have killed me. Just like Timmy H." She let my arm drop. I rubbed at the raised skin lightly, the bumps sending horrific flashbacks to that moment in time. I wasn't planning on sleeping anyway.

"Timmy H?"

I shook my head. "No one you know. He was a small-time smuggler working for Fontaine."

Camille's eyes widened. "He..."

"Sullivan took him in to find out anything he can about Fontaine. Didn't get much."

"How did he... _die_?"

"You don't want to know." I could still smell the burnt flesh, hear Timmy's screams from the air vent. I was surprised Timmy lasted as long as he did, telling Sullivan to go fuck his mother every chance he could get a breath.

Camille nodded and leaned back in the seat, running a hand through her bob cut.

We both looked at the door when we heard another knock and Sinclair let himself in. "Oh, I didn't realize you were here as well," He said to Camille with a grin. He leaned out the door again and called to a nurse, "Can I get another chair? Thank you, doll." He straightened up again. "How are you feelin'?"

Camille smiled back. "I'm okay. Just a little banged up."

Sinclair nodded and said, "That's great. Don't need the both of you in Medical."

A nurse scooted past him with a chair clenched in her hands. She set it down beside the bed and departed, Sinclair giving her a small thanks. He sat down and gave me a warm smile making me blush a little. "And how are _you_ feelin'?"

"The medical gibberish was more impressive, but from what I understood: I'll live."

"You had me worried, like always."

Camille snorted in a mild teasing matter. "Worried? You've been pacing your office for the past two days." Her hand went to mouth, trying miserably to control the bubbling laughter. Sinclair just grinned, being able to take jokes about him pretty well (including the 'tubs' joke that had started to spring up).

I laughed a little as well, noting Camille's mild shock at hearing me laugh. "Augustus, you don't have to worry. They said everything looks good. I should be out of here by tomorrow."

"And I can't take your word for that," He grinned. "I'm gonna ask your doctor about that."

Camille glanced at the clock on the wall and stood up. "I'm sorry, I have a meeting to attend. I will see you back at the office, Augustus," She said giving us a small wave. I nodded towards her for my own form of goodbye. She disappeared behind the door, leaving it a little open.

Sinclair quickly leaned over and placed a small, affectionate kiss on my lips. "Jamie, Jamie, Jamie. You're makin' me grow gray hair," He stated sitting back down. He took my hand in his own and squeezed it.

I smiled. "You sure that you're not just getting old?"

He shook his head at the jab and glanced at the door. He dug into his jacket pocket and pulled out a cigarette, perching it between his lips. "You shouldn't smoke in here. Doc gets mad." Sinclair smirked but lit up his cigarette anyways.

"Doctors get mad easily," He jested, using an empty cup as an ashtray.

I shook my head, the smile growing. "I would have thought you'd have a business deal to take care of, especially since Ryan's been raging on you for test subjects."

Sinclair puffed contently on his cigarette and leaned back in his seat, blowing the stream of smoke up. "Why would I be there when my girl is in Medical?"

My eyebrow raised at the statement. "'Your girl'?" I repeated, my voice softer than I was used to.

Sinclair grinned, his emerald eyes sparkling under the florescent lights. "Of course. I told you before: I love you. And I still love you despite your avoidance to emotional attachment." His thumb traced over my slightly torn up knuckle from the various punches I had thrown to splicers.

I half-heartedly glared at him for the stab at one of my personality flaws but didn't say anything to retaliate.

The nurse came in after a few minutes of comfortable silence, shooting a glare towards Sinclair for the cigarette but said nothing. She handed me a small paper cup with my daily dose of medications to keep the pain away and a cup of water. The drugs would ultimately knock me out cold, so Sinclair placed one last kiss on my lips and left to return to the Sinclair Tower.

In a swift motion, I tossed the pills into my mouth and swallowed them down with a gulp of water, grimacing at the taste of the capsules.

I laid back on the pillow, staring up at the ceiling tiles. I wasn't surprised Augustus came to visit, but Camille? I would dare say that she was coming around to tolerating me (not yet to befriending, let's not get ahead of ourselves). I couldn't say I liked her, but I could say I respected her and sometimes that's better than liking.

"Yes, Aphrodite, it is as you said!" I shot up in bed at Steinman's familiar voice. "She will be beautiful! Perfect!" I knew he was a nut case, but he really was seeing Aphrodite walking around? A cosmetic surgeon who is hallucinating, possibly (definitely) gone mad was still able to wander the halls with a scalpel in hand and a shit-eating grin on his face without someone revoking his medical license?

My breath quickened when his voice came closer to my door, my heart thundering in my chest. "With ADAM the flesh becomes _clay_. What excuse do I have not to sculpt and sculpt and sculpt until the job is done," He giggled maniacally under his breath.

I let out the breath I was holding when he walked past my door and didn't enter. Steinman was clearly insane, and people still flocked to him to get their faces sliced with a scalpel for a _look_ of beauty? I was happy with my looks, even the ATLAS carving on my arm as long as it kept me away from Steinman's scrutinizing gaze. I barely registered Patrick scrambling inside my hospital room again before the drugs knocked me out.

The next morning was a bit more smoothly than the night before. Dr. Andrews held up a few X-ray scans they had done of my head, examining the cracks in the back of my skull with a careful and trained eye. "Well, everything seems to be healing nicely. I'm going to have the nurse write up a prescription for the pain killers we've been giving you. I suggest plenty of rest and drink plenty of fluids. No extensive physical activity. I also recommend placing an ice pack to the back of your head for an hour every night before you go to sleep."

I nodded and glanced down at the bag Patrick had put together at my request. Dr. Andrews left me for privacy in the room after having me sign the release papers. I stripped off the hospital gown and quickly changed into the familiar fabric of one of my plain white shirts and dark trousers, smiling slightly. I never wanted to put a dress on for as long as I lived, not even if Augustus asked nicely.

I exited my room and made my way to the front desk to get the prescription Dr. Andrews mentioned. On the way out, I made a quick phone call to Sinclair to inform him that I was heading straight home for a much-needed sanity check from being in Medical too long.

My release from the Medical Pavilion was both a blessing and a nightmare.

The next few weeks trudged on by as life in Rapture spiraled downhill into a canyon of sharp, jagged rocks.

For every one normal human being, there were 10 splicers - Everyone lining up down the block for plasmids to protect themselves, creating new weapons like grenade launchers and chemical throwers and makeshift defensive turrets and security bots. Building interiors were being destroyed, Big Daddies roamed around with a Little Sister (a lot of new ones, children I almost recognized from the Drop), stores were closing left and right, locking down their doors to prevent any attacks on their businesses. Arcadia had been closed for the safety of the citizens when a Houdini Splicer commune showed up, calling themselves 'The Saturnine'. Cohen locked the doors to Fort Frolic, trapping his disciples inside as well for their own personal slices of pure Hell at the hands of the lunatic artist; if they were alive, only God would know. Dionysus Park had been flooded in some sort of freak accident, killing everyone trapped inside. A flaw in the drainage system they had said or a clumsy Big Daddy bumped into it as "Big Kate" O'Malley suggested.

Lamb had escaped Persephone during the riots and had retaken her daughter from Delta, forcing him to kill himself in the process with an experimental plasmid called the Hypnotize Plasmid - his body was still decaying on the floor in the Adonis. Brigid Tenenbaum disappeared without a trace with at least a dozen Little Sisters from Point Prometheus; "biting the company hand" as it was. Ryan locked himself in his offices in Hephaestus earning the insulting nickname "Hephaestus Hermit".

They had put a lockdown on the poorer areas of Rapture, but I knew the master code from watching Sullivan punch it in repeatedly. Otherwise, it was easy to hack the security systems from a test run on one of the Atlantis Express Maintenance in the back storage room. I could no longer return to my home just by walking through Apollo Square anymore, not with the guards surrounding the prison camp set up around the gallows holding everyone in support of Atlas and other law breakers. If the smell was bad before, it smelled worse now with the stench of body odor, blood, and decay from the corpses rotting in the streets, on the gallows and in the cells.

It was almost too dangerous to return home, but I had to for Patrick. I could sleep in the air vents, but I wouldn't put Patrick through that. Sinclair had offered that we stay with him in his apartment, but the idea was too much out of my comfort zone. I loved Sinclair, yes, but it was too soon to start spending my nights in his apartment alone together. I gave the offer to my son, but even he shook his head no, wanting to stay with me.

I found out Charles Kempton had been killed when he went for Patrick. Patrick had already escaped Apollo Square when Ryan's Security clashed with Atlas' army, but Charles got caught up in the fray. The man was a good friend, and I felt pain when I saw his body laying on the cart with the other bodies collected for disposal. What little cleanup was being done...

Elizabeth came as another shock. Patrick was the one who found her. Once I was released from the hospital, he brought me to where she lay dead. She was sitting upright, her back leaning against the wall. She was clearly beaten to death with something large... a wrench maybe? There was a bloody wrench laying nearby confirming my suspicions. I reached out and closed her eyes. "You came to the wrong city, Elizabeth. You should have stayed in Columbia," I whispered, touching her shoulder. Her body was collected a short time after.

The people were in a panic to try and escape the city in a mass exodus, but Ryan locked down the bathysphere transport to the lighthouse. People gathered outside of the docking bay with picket signs and their suitcases, some offering large sums of money to the security guards, others trying to beat their way to the sub, but Ryan's security held them back beating the ones who got too close with a baton. I had contemplated joining them, but even with the money I had accumulated over the years, I wouldn't have had a chance to get on the bathysphere. If I was to drown with the city, then so be it.

With the death toll in the city racking up, there was one person I had to know was alive or dead.

Siren Alley fared no better than the rest of Rapture, but some of the stores were still open like the Mermaid Lounge, but I wasn't here for a drink or to gamble away my money. The sign for the Pink Pearl came into view and I stopped in my tracks. Did I really feel concerned enough for my own good-for-nothing mother to attempt to make sure she was still alive? I wasn't taking ADAM, but I must have gone mad to be able to step through the doors. My back pressed against the wall at the decimated Big Daddy laying on the ground in front of the support pillar, bodies of splicers pinned to the walls by spears (one _attractively_ pinned to the wall by a spear through her mouth). I slipped carefully around them and continued on, forcing the image out of my mind. The splicer woman pinned to the support beam in the middle of the room did little to help me forget.

I was starting to regret coming here, but I had to know if she was still alive. I walked swiftly past the sleeping door guard and looked around at the damage the Pearl had seen from the war, but that didn't deter the girls from putting themselves up for sale. There were more girls here than before, meaning the women were getting desperate in trying to survive in the city and to get more ADAM from the scars I had seen on various women as I passed by. I finally arrived at my mother's designated room and entered without a second thought. My hand flew to my nose at the smell of death and I broke into a sprint to the bedroom, skidding to a stop in the doorway. My mother was dead, numerous needles littering her arm; overdose on drugs. Rupert Grinchaw was laying dead as well in front of the bed, but his brain was crushed in from the pipe laying next to him. Daniel must have been angry that he killed one of his girls and killed Rupert in a fit of anger: a fitting end for someone like Rupert.

I was vaguely aware of Connie Boswell crooning from the record player, the record skipping a little from the angle the record player was sitting at. I took careful steps towards the bed and my mother's body like I was afraid she was going to get up again and smack me for letting her die. It wasn't my fault, but I knew that's what she'd say to me. When she didn't move as my imagination predicted, I pulled the purple sheet out from under her body and draped it carefully over her naked body for some sort of decency. I turned my attention to the phonograph, but an Accu-Vox caught my attention. It was sitting on the table, not even hidden from sight like I would have done. I shook my head and walked over, picking it up.

I pressed play and waited. _"Sure, I've had some Johns in my time and they've all got their kinks,_ " I hear my mother's voice come through, a little wistful. " _but I think Rupert beats all. Keeps wanting me to splice up 'in the act'... says it'll heighten if for the both of us._ " Dusky laughed on the tape and continued, " _I said honey, I ain't doing it for the heights, I'm doing it for the scratch. Besides, Danny would have a fit if I started needling. He does it himself, of course. But what's good for the gander gets the goose thrown off the Drop!_ " The recording ended.

I threw it back down on the table in disgust. My mother's last recorded words and she talks about Rupert? What had I hoped for? A reconcile for all the things she done to me or saying that maybe she did love me? I still didn't even know why I came here. Seeing that she was dead, I couldn't really say I was happy, but I wasn't exactly crying about it either. I flipped off the phonograph and sighed. With one more look back at my mother I left the room, stuffing my hands in my pockets. I guess the reason I wanted to see if my mother was still alive was because I wanted something familiar to remain in this quickly deteriorating city called Rapture. Even if my mother was a whore, she had been a whore since I was young and hadn't changed at all. And now she was gone, along with anything connecting me to my past, to that scared little girl living with her mother and her dead father's parents.

I was in the vents before I could break down yet again on that couch by the stairs, crawling in the direction of the Sinclair Tower.

Sinclair wasn't in his office when I arrived and I laid on the couch that he had officially dubbed "Jamie's Couch" in a joke with Camille which I overheard. Speaking of Camille, I didn't hear her shuffling around in her office like normal. I sat up and stared at the wall separating Sinclair's office and her own, listening for any sign that she was inside. It wasn't that late in the day from what I could tell (4:30 pm) and Sinclair didn't inform me of any meetings they had (only a small one with Gil Alexander, but he'd be able to handle that). I stood up and made my way out of Sinclair's office. Camille's door was locked like she hadn't been in there all day. She wasn't sick that much I knew for sure and she never just skipped work without a say-so from Sinclair. I didn't see her when I scouted out the bathysphere port heading for the lighthouse. Something didn't sit right in the pit of my stomach.

Only one thought danced across my mind, and I dashed for the tram station to head to her apartment in Olympus Heights. I had hoped it was my mind sending off in a paranoid state of mind and that she would be in her apartment safe and sound.

 _Sullivan_.

If that rat bastard even laid a single finger on her, he will have nowhere to hide. I've taken down splicers: what's one man who finds it great fun to tie down women and slice them up, making them scream or god knows what he's doing to Camille if he has her.

Slipping into an air vent in main courtyard of Olympus Heights, I slipped easily into her apartment and quickly spotted her cat laying on the floor, gargling and moaning in a desperate attempt to breathe. Her little legs were bent at odd angles, the bones clearly broken and her fur was matted with blood. Someone had stomped on the poor creature to death which automatically ruled out Camille herself - she loved that cat to death. I knelt down next to the poor creature and lightly petted the top of its head, giving it some form of comfort until if finally stopped gurgling and ultimately stopped breathing. Camille's revolver laid under a nearby end table, all six bullets accounted for when I picked it up. A small puddle of blood caught my eye next close to the door - the only clear sign of struggle aside from the now dead cat and the dropped gun.

I walked to her bedroom and found her leather suitcase open on the bed, stuffed with clothes and a few records. She was planning to leave as well, but obviously something stopped her from making the trip to the bathysphere port like everyone else. I went back to the dead cat and noticed something under the little body. A calling card for Security Chief Sullivan that I knew Camille would never keep in her life. I crushed the bloodied card and threw it against the ground.

Sullivan was a dead man.

I threw open the door to her apartment and stormed out heading straight for Port Neptune.


	19. Chapter 19

My hand covered my mouth at the amount of blood coating the tools and table in the small interrogation room. It hadn't been all that difficult to find after I had left Camille's apartment (her gun and a kitchen knife tucked away on my person), I just followed the smell of blood the moment I hit Neptune's Bounty. The room itself stunk of blood, burnt flesh, sweat and urine that almost made me gag in response; solid concrete walls surrounding the room making screaming for help near impossible; a single lightbulb hung overhead illuminating the room like something out of a horror film. White powder covered a portion of the floor, and it only took me a moment to realize that it was cocaine; Camille's cocaine. His link to her being involved with Fontaine's smuggling ring.

It looked almost like the room I had been locked in when Sullivan had 'interrogated' me with the exception that there was no chair and the table was cut out to be able to strap someone down with their arms spread apart. Sullivan's carryall was still sitting on the table with the tools scattered across it, each tool with its own set amount of drying blood: a police baton, handcuffs, large pliers, a hammer, a few rusty nails and a serrated knife. I picked up the knife carefully before dropping it like it had burned me. It may not have been the knife Sullivan had used on me, but it still brought back those memories, and I bet if I looked inside the carryall, I'd find the accursed thing.

An Accu-Vox caught my attention, but all I could do was stare at it. I knew exactly what was on it and quite frankly, I couldn't bring myself to hear Camille scream just for the sake of my own curiosity. To hear her scream for help, scream of her innocence in whatever Sullivan was interrogating her about, scream in pure agony. Looking for hope but finding that hope had fled. It would be like looking in a funhouse mirror from Hell.

I picked up a little silver lighter that I had seen Camille use before, bloodied fingerprints staining the metal casing. I diligently wiped it clean on my trousers and stuffed it in my pocket. The last item I picked up was a gold fob watch with the small carving of _F.F_ on the back. It was Frank Fontaine's fob watch which made me wonder why Camille had it. If anything, this little trinket should still be in his penthouse or in Ryan's trophy collection along with the bodies starting to decorate the walls of the atrium leading to his office. But here it was, glittering in what little light the room possessed. It had been polished repeatedly from the looks of it showing that it was obviously taken care of by Camille. I shook my head and tucked the large fob watch into my trousers pocket. I turned to the door and froze, seeing the door handle turn.

The gun was quickly in my hand, as was the knife. The door swung open and in stepped the rat in his prime, still sweaty from his session with Camille no doubt evident from the yellow armpit stains in his white shirt. "Wha' the-" He started taking a step back. In his hands was another Accu-Vox tape: he was planning to continue his torture of Camille. But Camille was gone meaning she had somehow escaped, something I would look into later.

I had no idea where the mentality of sadistic rage came from, but I grabbed the hem of Sullivan's shirt and pulled him roughly into the room using my foot to kick the door shut behind us.

In a moment of pure adrenaline and upper body strength, I had lifted the rat-man off the ground long enough to slam his back on the table, his shoulder blade digging into the pliers in his way. He let out a loud yelp from the pliers digging into his back and swung a fist in my direction. In one swift movement, the knife was embedded in his glove-covered hand and stabbing clear through his flesh to the table, keeping him pinned in place. He let out a blood-curdling scream from impact, staring at his pinned hand wide-eyed like a fish staring up at a fisherman. I took the new reel from his hand and moved to the Accu-Vox. "Protocol," I mimicked his sessions with every one of his victims and me. I ejected the tape with Camille's interrogation on it and popped in the new tape, hitting record. "Interrogation of Sullivan, Chief of Security for Andrew Ryan. Repayment conducted by Hawkeye." I set the tape next to the Accu-Vox and moved over to where Sullivan was trying in vain to pull out the knife.

I grabbed his other wrist and slammed it down on the table, snatching up the serrated knife he had used on Camille. "I hope this hurts," I grinned, stabbing the blade through his hand and pinning it to the table. His scream nearly deafened me, but I shrugged it off, shaking my head to rid myself of the ringing. "How does it feel? My hand only recently finished healing! Is this what you did to Camille Adler? I saw the nails and the hammer. Did you pin her hands on the table? Just like this?" I shifted the knife, earning a pained gasp from the man whose sweating had increased.

"S-Stop!" Sullivan begged, trying to shift without moving the knives -which failed.

"Not so fun now when the shoe is on the other foot," I hissed in his ear pulling out the revolver again. I clicked open the cylinder and pulled out all six bullets, stuffing five of them in my pocket holding up one. "Pray to whoever you worship, Sullivan." I pushed the bullet into a slot and gave the cylinder a spin before snapping it shut. "Here's what I'm going to do, Sullivan," I announced, voice loud. I paced around his pinned form much like a vulture, just like he did to me when he chose a place to slice open. "I'm going to pull the trigger four times. If the bullet doesn't come out after four clicks... Well, we'll have to get there first, won't we?" I stopped pacing when I was directly behind him on the other side of the table. "As much as I would love to just carve you up just like you did to me: I don't have that kind of time."

I pressed the barrel against the back of his skull, pulling back the hammer. "Number 1," I said aloud for the Accu-Vox.

Without a second thought, I pulled the trigger. A click came through, but no bullet. Regardless, Sullivan flinched earning another pained yell when he pulled on the knives. If the bullet didn't kill him, for sure the blood-loss and shock would. I just had to keep in from going into shock until I pulled the trigger four times.

"I'll see you hung, whore!" Sullivan roared at me suddenly finding a brief moment of energy. The hammer was drawn back again, and the trigger pulled. Another click. If Sullivan was sweaty before, he was sweating bullets now. He screamed every insult he could think of under the sun, "slum-rat" being the kindest.

I faced the gallows with the murder of Sullivan, but quite frankly, I didn't care. I wanted the nightmares to stop, for the torture of others to stop, for the fear of Sullivan to stop. This may help Atlas in the long run, but I wasn't thinking of Atlas right now; I was thinking of how I could make this man hurt like nothing he's ever felt before. To make him scream just as I did.

I waltzed around the table again until I was standing in front of him again. "Keep screamin', Sullivan! Jus' like everyone who 'as passed through this room, through _any_ interr'gation room set up." The Welsh accent was pouring through uncontrollably. The gun pressed against his forehead. Another click and still no bullet. "Lucky so far, Sullivan. Wha's the chance of this next pull bein' the bullet?"

He spat in my face forcing me to look away and wipe away the saliva with my bloodstained sleeve leaving a smear across my cheek. "Fuck you, whore! Fuck you! I shoulda killed you when I had you on that table: screamin' for God. You wanna know how Camille screamed? Bitch couldn't even breathe properly. Such a pretty thing she was, screamin' for me to stop." The ATLAS carving burned furiously at the reminder of my day spent with Sullivan.

I sneered dangerously and pulled the trigger again. The bullet shot out of the cylinder tearing through Sullivan's skull in an instant silencing him forever. My breath came in short gasps as Sullivan slumped back against the table, the gun held in a death grip. The ATLAS carving burned like nothing before; the only thing I felt in my numb body. Sullivan was gone for good. Vengeance was mine for everyone who had suffered under Ryan's attack dog.

A scream ripped from me - a mixture of pain and release. It was liberating.

My hand fell to the fob watch bulging in my pocket. I had to find Camille seeing as she wasn't here when both Sullivan and I arrived. Shaking my head of what had just happened, I walked around Sullivan's body and hit the eject on the Accu-Vox. This was the only proof that I had been here, that I was the one who had murdered Sullivan and that proof would stay with me, along with Camille's interrogation tape. For her dignity, only she would listen to the tape when she had the will to listen, not even my ears would hear it. Even if she allowed me, I don't think I'd be _able_ to listen because all I could think of was my own that I was unable to retrieve and I knew not of where Sullivan keeps the reels.

I tucked both tapes into my pants pockets, the gun stuffed into the waistline of my pants and left the room heading for the air vent before anyone came running over hearing the gunshot. List of places shot through my head to where Camille would have run off too in order to escape. From the amount of blood I had seen in that room, there was no way Camille was walking out of here without help, but Sinclair was still in his meeting according to the clock in the hallway. And Sullivan would not make the mistake twice to let someone save Camille Adler, ex-secretary for Fontaine, like Sinclair had done to me.

I smacked my forehead when it became obvious: Atlas. A raid on Sullivan's interrogation rooms, finding Camille, taking her back to his hideout where ever the hell that was. Atlas was an unknown variable in this equation being all over the board when it came to things. He was the best thing to happen to the disenfranchised people of Rapture, but he was also the worst. This had turned into a game of cat and mouse, one that I was not going to lose. Atlas was a man who knew how to hide, but I knew how to find them. All it would take was one of Atlas' splicers to screw up, and I'd have him in the palm of my hand, along with Camille.

I couldn't walk around covered in Sullivan's blood though, I'd see the gallows before I could even begin my search for Camille. I contemplated sending a message to Sinclair informing him of the situation but decided against it. Knowing him, he wouldn't tell anyone about it and if Ryan _did_ look into who exactly murdered Sullivan, that note would become evidence and make Sinclair an accomplice in a death he had no part of. And I wouldn't want him to find out yet until I had Camille out of harm's way. Patrick was sent to sniff out information of the recent location of Atlas.

I quickly changed my shirt to a dark blue colored shirt once I was safe inside my apartment, no one noticing the bloodstains on my clothes thankfully or if they did they paid it no heed since bloodstains seem to be the new accessory to the lower class population. The shirt was promptly disposed of in a bag to be thrown in a burn barrel the residents had set up. I washed away the blood smeared across my cheek and glanced at myself in the mirror noting the dark marks under my eyes. I hadn't had a proper sleep in months, the nightmares plaguing my mind as Sullivan's face twisted into something of a demon clawing away at my flesh. The ATLAS carving no longer burned like it recognized that Sullivan could no longer touch me, could no longer touch anyone else other than the undertaker if Ryan even bothered. More than likely he wouldn't. It would only take Ryan one look at the scene to condemn Atlas for the killing of his attack dog, putting me in the clear. Just another splicer attack and the evidence proving otherwise was safe with me along with anything incriminating Camille.

I consider us even now.

Now it was a matter of _finding_ Camille and bringing her back. From what I knew of Atlas, finding _him_ personally would be like finding a needle in a haystack, but finding some of his followers would only take picking the right one and say that I just murdered Sullivan. Pick wrong, I'd get turned in to Ryan. Pick right, I'd get taken to Atlas and ultimately Camille.

I shook my head and moved toward the door. I stopped right as my hand connected to the door handle at the voice of someone unfamiliar to me. "Is this... Hawkeye's apartment?" It was a woman, timid, but strangely confident like she was sure that she was in the right place.

I yanked the door open quickly and grabbed the front blouse of a very startled Diane McClintock pulling her none-to-gently into my apartment. I slammed the door shut again and locked it before shooting a glare at the woman that I had evidently thrown to the floor. "How in the hell do you know who I am?" I grabbed her blouse and slammed her back into the wall.

Diane looked like I had a gun to my face, which could still happen since the gun was tucked into the waistline of my trousers. Her face seemed to had been healed from the Kashmir attack (probably from Steinman) and her hair was stuffed up into a stocking cap.

"Th-There's a woman under our care. She asked me to get you. She said _Hawkeye. Artemis. 26._ She was in intense pain so I was forced to give her painkillers before she could explain further," She rambled off holding her hands up in a small surrender. "It took me a few hours to figure out what she meant, and I came here. Please."

"This woman: Blonde? Blue eyes? Taller than me?" She nodded sort of relieved she had the right person. I rubbed my chin, placing a hand on my hip. Camille requested that Diane fucking McClintock come here and get me? For what? Why didn't she call for Sinclair? Or just let me find her? She sent this woman to my door, an obvious Atlas-supporter for what? "Why in the hell should I trust a single word you say?" I questioned releasing my grip on her shirt and folding my hands behind my back just within reach of the grip of the revolver.

"I didn't say that you should trust me, I just said that she asked for you. Believe what you'd like," Diane retorted gaining a little confidence.

Seeing no other option, I let my hands fall to my sides. "Fine."

Diane nodded and gestured for me to go first. I turned my back to her only for her to gasp unexpectedly. "Ah... Your gun-"

"Touch the gun; you'll lose your fingers," I snapped opening the door. "After you."

The blindfold -I felt- was completely unnecessary, but understandable with someone in my position who doesn't support Atlas in any way. Not that I supported Ryan either; if anything I stood behind Sinclair who I guess was the neutral party. These splicers were taking precautions to make sure I don't go squealing to Ryan about where Atlas was hiding not that I would. If Sinclair asked where Atlas was, on the other hand, that'd be information I'd give to him. Camille had better be damn grateful I agreed to this even with her injuries that I had no doubt in my mind that she possessed.

To voice my annoyance of the blindfold, I repeated the mantra of, "Are we there yet?" Which drove a few of the splicers escorting me a little nuts, more than usual I mean. Despite my cold demeanor that I normally had, I can be annoying when I chose to be and this was one of those times. I'm surprised they didn't try and take the gun stuffed in the back of my trousers since my arms were being held by a splicer and Diane, but I supposed the threat of losing fingers did the trick.

"Yes! Fer gods sake, we're here!" A splicer finally exclaimed pushing open a door and allowing Diane to lead me in.

The blindfold was finally removed, but despite their precautions, I knew exactly where we were: Fontaine's Home for the Poor. Not exactly a top secret base now, is it?

"This way," Diane said gently shooing off the other three splicers that accompanied us.

I followed close behind Ryan's ex-fiancée gazing at the damaged walls around us and broken in doorways. Several posters of Atlas lined the walls as well trying to cover up some of the holes. This place had seen as much hell as the rest of Rapture meaning Ryan's team _had_ been in here to try and flush out Atlas which failed obviously. And Camille was staying here probably against her will or guilt-tripped into staying which I wouldn't put past Diane or Atlas.

Diane shouldered open a door at the end of the hallway and stepped to the side to let me in.

Camille was awake thankfully, laying on the cot inside and she was shocked to see me step through the door. Not as shocked as I was to see the extent of the number Sullivan did on her, but my face didn't betray what I was thinking. Her forehead was covered in a large plaster, cheeks swollen and turning various colors now, hands covered in a bandage as well from the nails I'd imagine. The rest of her body was covered with a button-up shirt she was drowning in and a pair of baggy trousers making her look similar to how I dressed so any chance of seeing the rest of the damage was slim to none. I held back the smile of the irony of seeing her dressed like me since she clearly didn't need that kind of agitation. No shoes or socks though.

"The painkillers are still wearing off, but please make yourself at home for her sake," Diane suggested in a comforting tone for Camille mostly, not for me. Camille slowly sat up to avoid causing her head to spin from the medication.

"I won't be staying long. And when I leave: I'm taking her with," I said sharply. I moved to sit down on the edge of the cot and away from Diane. Diane said nothing to argue against my declaration which I was grateful for. The woman left the room without another word, leaving me and Camille alone.

Camille bit her bottom lip nervously. "I'm shocked you actually came." Her voice was a little slurred by the painkillers, but I could have cared less. She's heard me when I was coming down from a painkiller high and didn't say anything about it.

I shrugged nonchalantly. "I'm cold, not heartless," I joked lightly to try and lighten the mood a little half-smirk forming for only a second. Even if I had to drag her out of here: I would get her to Sinclair, to Medical and then get the hell out of Rapture - all with avoiding this damn war and anyone looking into Sullivan's murder. My hand fell to the bulge in my pocket where the fob watch belonging to Fontaine still rested. "Oh! Got a present for you," I said digging in my pocket so I could pull out the watch properly without breaking anything.

I gripped it in the palm of my hand and held it out for her to see, the gold giving off a shine to add to the affect.

Camille's breath hitched in her throat as she started at the fob watch, her fingers slowly moving out to trace the _F.F_ engraved on the casing. She caught her bottom lip again between her teeth to try and hold back the tears welling in her eyes as the tips of her fingers slowly traced the first 'F' of Fontaine's initials.

Taking her wrist, I pressed the fob watch into her grasp so I wouldn't have to hold it anymore. Holding it felt like I was holding a bit of Fontaine which, in all honesty, scared the hell out of me. I still didn't know how she even came into possession of such a trinket since Fontaine was not known to give people personal items as gifts, especially nothing with his initials engraved on it. He'd go out and buy a brand new fob watch if he meant to give one to Camille or to anybody if he cared enough about them. "How... How did you get this? Sull-"

I held up a hand to stop her from finishing Sullivan's name. " _He's_ dead."

She was confused again. "Dead? What do you mean 'He's dead'?"

I pulled out her silver lighter as well and set it on her lap. "Got that as well." My hand reached around to pull the revolver out from the waistline of my trousers. "He was shot. With this gun." I held it up for her to see properly.

Her brows knitted together as she examined the revolver. "The gun... _My_ gun. How did you get this?"

I smirked at the question. "You may lock your doors, but the air ducts are always open."

"You were in my apartment?" Her tone was a little angry, but I had to guess that the shock of what happened to her hadn't really set in yet.

Perhaps a few moments where she'd stare at something that reminded her of what happened, but the full-blown hysteria hadn't happened.

Sinclair had to deal with mine a few days after I had escaped Sullivan's interrogation room, but he stayed with me during the whole thing whispering soothing words in my ear. I had Sinclair to deal with it, but who did Camille have? In reality, Sinclair and I were the only people she really had any friendly/respectful contact with since Fontaine was killed. She'd be too stubborn to call Sinclair for help despite that and we didn't even like each other enough for me to be the shoulder to cry on. The furthest our relationship has gotten to over the time we've known each other is a mutual respect and even _that_ was pushing it. Sure, she did ask Diane to come get me from my apartment, but in no way would Camille have asked for Diane to go to Sinclair, not only because he technically worked with Ryan, but also to keep him out of this war that he remained a neutral party in. Sinclair was her safe haven as he was mine and both of us would like that it remained that way even if it meant sacrificing our health. To everyone else, he was a man with a heart of stone who would sell paradise in an instant, but to us, he was a lifeline.

"Why did you agree to go with Diane?" She asked suddenly, her thumb still tracing the fob watch absentmindedly. "Did you even know I was missing?"

"Honestly? I agreed to go with Diane before I felt like had to. Yes, I knew you were missing. Yes, I searched you out after I went to your apartment to see you not there, only your cat, the revolver discarded on the floor, some blood by the door and Sullivan's business card which I knew you would never keep. It didn't take me long to find Sullivan and kill the bastard." Her eyes fell to the fob watch again. Her mood had changed drastically since the last time I saw her, but Sullivan could do that to a person. Regardless, it didn't feel right. Camille was supposed to be this strong, independent woman who was terrified to stand up to Fontaine but did it anyway having proved me wrong since the first time I laid eyes on her. "Just for the record, I'm starting to feel like your nanny."

The glare was there in an instant. "My _nanny_?!" Much better.

I chuckled and stood up, stuffing the gun into my now empty pocket. "I'll get you some painkillers and take you to Sinclair. Sinclair can get you an appointment in Medical and they can fix you up better than these guys can."

Camille nodded then grabbed my wrist suddenly. "He... He taped the session..." I nodded and dug in my left pocket, pulling out both tapes. "There are two?"

"One is yours. And one is _his_. I thought you'd might enjoy it." She took the tapes tentatively, looking at them like they were going to burst into flames. "You can listen to them on your own time."

"Did you listen...?" She trailed off, afraid of the answer.

"No. I didn't." A long exhale escaped me. "I couldn't bring myself to press play." Shock was Camille's next emotion.

"Why couldn't you? You were eager to listen to my tapes before."

I bit down on the inside of my cheek, debating whether or not to answer. There was no way I could press play for any reel for the interrogation because even though its someone else on the tape all I'd be able to hear is my own screams. If I had pressed play on that device and listened to Camille scream it wouldn't have mattered if I had killed Sullivan: The nightmares would still remain, along with the restless nights and poor appetite (I was already thin enough, I didn't need to add malnourished to the list. Sinclair was already having a shit-fit about my sleeping habits).

"Just take the tapes."

She nodded obediently and stuffed them in the pocket of her trousers along with her lighter. The fob watch she held on to. Before I could even reach for the painkillers resting on the table nearby, the door swung open and in stepped Atlas causing me to freeze. A quirky grin made it's way to Atlas' strong featured face as his blue eyes darted between myself and Camille. "I was told ya had a friend in yer room, Betty, but... this was not what I was expectin'." Betty? I glanced back at Camille who glared at me a little to play along with the charade. Smart girl.

I crossed my arms and straightened my shoulders defensively. "And what were you expecting?" I kept my voice calm, but in my head the question came out as a growl.

Atlas could see right through the calmness in my voice and his quirky grin molded into a charming smile fit for a shark, challenging me with his gaze to make a move against him. Despite the smile that seemed to tell people that he was a powerful man on the side of the angels, to me his demeanor screamed, "Stand in my way and I'll send you to Ryan in a body bag with a smile." He may have had everyone else in the Drop and Apollo Square fooled into thinking he was some sort of saint, but I wasn't an idiot. Atlas would either take them to the surface in some miracle act from God or get everyone killed brutally for Ryan wasn't going to hold back.

Atlas crossed his arms to mimic me and asked, "You're the same as the people I help. Diane tells me you live in the Artemis Suites. Why aren't you standin' with us?"

My arms dropped to my sides as I stared him down. "My reasons are my own. Now if you'll excuse us, we're leaving."

Atlas' smile dropped when he noticed my arm. I tucked my arms behind my back and gave him a faked smile. "Would you kindly leave us so that I can deal with her in privacy?"

"Yer arm..."

" _Leave_ ," I nearly growled out.

He held up his hands in a mock surrender and left the room quietly casting one last glance at Camille.

"You weren't kidding when you said you didn't like Atlas," Camille commented, scratching the side of her arm and wincing at the strain it put on her muscles to even move her arm.

"Yeah well, I don't trust anybody who sends splicers to nearly kill us. Kill Sinclair..." I shook my head and went back to my previous task of getting her some painkillers so that she could survive the trip out of Fontaine's Home for the Poor. The affect hit her almost right away and I knelt down with my back turned to the cot. "Get on."

"Wha?" She slurred, the painkillers taking their affect.

"Well you're not walking out of here on your own are you? Come on, Cinderella. I'll carry you." She nodded like a bobble head and looped her arms around my neck allowing herself to almost fall on to my back. Hooking her knees, I stood up slowly to prevent any jarring.

I ignored the splicers staring us down as I passed them and shot a glare to Atlas who only smiled in response and waved. Splicers stopped me at the door and put blindfolds around our eyes as a precaution and escorted me out with relative ease so I wouldn't end up tripping over anything and dropping the injured Camille Adler.

After a while, they slipped the blindfolds off and gave me a warning glare. I held back a chuckle and continued on out of Apollo Square avoiding Ryan's Security as best as I could. If any asked, I just told them that she was my cousin who was injured in a splicer attack and I was taking her to medical. It was a fairly simple lie, easy to remember and nobody asked for ID since my hands were occupied, and Camille was unconscious. I was thankful for the upper body strength I possessed for how long I was spending walking to the Sinclair Tower since I couldn't gain access to the Atlantic Express forcing me to take the tunnels. And also for the fact that Camille stayed still in her drugged sleep aside from the occasional shifting of her head on my shoulder.

I looked at Camille out of the corner of my eye and realized that despite everything, I could add her to my small list of friends joining Augustus and Grace. I couldn't really say the same for Camille, but it was a nice sentiment. I hadn't heard one single remark about my class since that night at the Kashmir which was a nice change. I smiled as the Sinclair Tower came into view and made a small promise to myself: even if it killed me, Sinclair, Patrick, and Camille would see the surface again.


	20. Chapter 20

Sinclair and I stayed in Camille's room even after the x-ray specialist came around to get her scans.

Every now and then I would hover around the Medical Pavilion like some old sheepdog, waiting for any news on Camille's condition. Sinclair and I could have left, but with Steinman and the other doctors as spliced and insane as they were: I was not about to leave Camille unattended for a long period. Call it a healthy level of paranoia. Camille was long overdue for one of her crazy adventures. I wouldn't put it past her to search out Steinman for some insane reason.

I had told Sinclair the bare minimum of details of Camille's torture, leaving out the fact that she was rescued by Atlas, replacing it with a white lie that she had escaped on her own and I found her wandering around Port Neptune. I said nothing of Sullivan's murder as well, only that he wasn't there when I arrived to get her for Sinclair's protection than my own. Patrick hovered around the room, not feeling comfortable being in the room. He constantly poked his head out of the room, watching for anyone that may pose an immediate threat to us.

Sinclair dismissed himself to use the restroom, leaving me by myself to wait for Camille to return with the results of her scans.

Patrick waited inside the room while I stepped out of the room to purchase something to munch on from the vending machine. These visits to the hospital were getting more and more frequent as the years progressed, making the option of finding some way to leave this place more desperate. Ryan had closed down the bathysphere travel though, which resulted in a slaughter outside of the main port when Ryan's security shot the civilians trying to break their way past the barricade.

I jumped when I heard blood-curdling screams coming from Aesthetic Ideals that tore through the whole Pavilion. "What the hell...?" I questioned, my brows knitting together.

I glanced around to see that no one was affected by the screams like it had become a normal occurrence. Steeling my nerves, I stood from my seat and slowly stepped down the hall toward Aesthetic Ideals, toward Steinman's favorite haunt. The hallway itself was dimmed almost to the point of pitch darkness from the numerous burnt out lights that no one had a care to replace. A few splicers slumped over in their chairs that lined the hallway; dead or alive, I couldn't figure that out and I didn't care to find out. The patient lounge looked no different from the rest of the Pavilion; even the posters were mangled with surgical scissors protruding from the eyes of a few, red... marker I hoped... scribbled over the pictures of young women to show the changes that Steinman wanted to make on them with his scalpel. I shivered at the possibility of getting one of those scissors in my own eyes and continued on, ignoring the rest of the bloodstained place. The screaming echoed again, and my legs moved faster to find the source, almost breaking into a full-on sprint, but I controlled myself enough to march on in the cadence of double-time.

I heard the familiar groan of a Big Daddy ambling around nearby, but I ignored it since I had no interest in the hulking behemoth.

I passed through the final Securis door that revealed something right out of a horror movie: it was dark, and blood stained the walls surrounding the front desk. The screams were deafening coming from behind the front desk, and this time I could make out words, "GET OFF! STOP! HELP!"

I had no idea what propelled me forward to try and save this woman's torment, but before I knew it, I was laying a punch to the one and only Steinman's jaw. He slammed into the wall directly behind the desk, startling him enough to buy me a few moments of time to get his receptionist out of there. I grabbed her wrist and gave it a pull, getting her out from behind her desk, but stopped when I saw the damage: she was barely alive and gasping for air since one of her breasts cut off viciously leaving a gaping hole where it should have been. Blood poured nonstop from the hole making me shiver at the sight as my vision briefly flashed to the knife Sullivan wielded to carve my body up. The receptionist gave on last desperate look at me, begging for help before her life drifted away, her eyes going dull.

I arched back instinctively as a surgical knife swung dangerously close to my throat. "I wasn't done with her! Now I can't use her breasts!" He shouted angrily, maniacally even the insanity clear in his voice. He paused for a moment as he looked me up and down, "Actually, I could use you..." He swung wildly, and I ducked out of the way. It didn't take long before I was sprinting further into Aesthetic Ideals into the surgery wing having no way to get around Steinman to get to the exit. "Come baaaaaack! I'm not going to hurt you; I just want to cut you open and see what's inside!"

I slid sharply around the corner, my hand touching the ground to keep me balanced on the slippery floor. I slammed my back against the wall in a desperate attempt to hide. I could hear Steinman's expensive shoes clicking against the tile as he got closer, his running slowed to threatening steps. I jumped when a chiming tone echoed throughout the lobby and into the hallway I was hiding in. His footsteps ceased. "Who could it be, goddess? Another comes to be beautiful?" His footsteps did a full 180 and went back down the hallway to answer the door.

Carefully I stepped out, only catching his white coat disappearing from view. Who in their right mind would come here to seek out Steinman when it was clear he was insane and murderous at that. I shook my head and got my breathing back under control along with my thundering heart. I knew I hated doctors for a reason. Going back the way I came with the intent of escaping, I waited until Steinman's voice ran out. "Yes? I'm very busy! Who is it?" He seemed annoyed probably because he was interrupted from chasing me about, hell-bent on cutting me open for whatever he wanted. And slightly out of breath from running after me.

I was thankful for whichever stupid sap came, distracting him from his task of gutting me alive like his receptionist.

 _"Dr. Steinman? It's... Camille Adler."_  My thoughts came to a screeching halt along with my breathing. Oh for love of... Is she serious right now? I leave her alone for more than ten minutes, and she's trying to get herself killed... again! I groaned internally and glanced around the corner at Steinman hovered over the call button.

"Do you have an appointment?" He asked, twirling the bloodstained scalpel between his fingers.

 _"No, I don't. I just came from the hospital wing and I... I'd like to speak with you."_  I could have punched Camille repeatedly so that she would remain in a vegetative state so she wouldn't do stupid shit like this again. Of all the people Sinclair had me tail from the get-go, it had to be the most suicidal girl in all of Rapture. Camille and I would have a very long discussion when we had the chance...  _If_  we had the chance.

"Regarding?"

_"A private matter."_

"I'm too busy, Miss Adler. I've got patients waiting here for me to see them and the goddess demands much of my time. I'm sorry, you'll have to make an appointment and see me later. My receptionist should be at the door, so please speak with  _her._ " Was he that delusional? He had just murdered his receptionist not even 5 minutes ago! The man was insane, no doubt and now Camille was about to walk right into his office for what I know of Camille, she'd say something that would pique his interest and cause him to open the door.

 _"Please! I... I'd like to see you about a consultation."_  Never fails.

As predicted, she had successfully caught Steinman's attention as a maniacal grin spread across his face. "Really?" He asked, almost giddy at the thought of having Camille in for a consultation.

 _"Yes. If you'll let me in, well, you'll see how badly I need some surgery._ Your  _surgery."_

"Of course, Miss Adler. Come through. My office is at the end of the hall." I hid in the shadows as Steinman waltzed past, not even noticing me hiding thankfully. His door slammed shut making me jump a little. I held my breath as Camille passed by as well, looking around as scared as I had been when I saw the state of this place. If only she'd learn to not do stupid things like this for her own curiosity. Stupidity killed the cat; curiosity was framed.

Camille reached the door and knocked before she went inside to Steinman's call.

I couldn't bring myself to get up from the floor, unsure of what laid behind that door that Camille had just disappeared in to. It only took a few minutes before Steinman came out almost singing to himself about his receptionist's lips looking divine on Camille's face and to Aphrodite. Fucking lunatic. I inched out of the shadows towards the door where no doubt Camille was. I could hear her rifling through his filing cabinet, searching for something and it didn't take a genius to figure out she was searching for Fontaine's file. Adler had such an obsession with Fontaine it was almost unhealthy, but I could commend the woman for being this faithful to a man who's dead.

I slunk back to the shadows when Steinman returned, waving a pair of lips around like they were toys, cut jaggedly off of his receptionist. "Miss Adler, I have exactly what you need," He announced quite pleased with himself.

"I can see that, Dr. Steinman," Her words were starting to shake as the fear set in again. "They're lovely lips."

"I've always admired my receptionist's mouth. She won't need it anymore, though. I think these lips will suit you much better. To be honest, Miss Adler, I've always found you to be quite repulsive. That sounds harsh, I know, but every time you've come into my office, I've just wanted to  _fix you fucking face."_  I'd like to see him try. If anything, he'd have to get through me to get to Camille, and I was ready to break the door down if needed. "Your eyes, your cheekbones, your jaw, your  _mouth._  All so  _quaint._  So  _pretty_. I've dreamed about it, about having you on my table. The things my scalpel and I would do to you... I must say, I'm quite grateful for Sullivan. If he hadn't done  _that_  to you, you would never have come to me." I nearly vomited at Sullivan's name, may the man burn in agony in Hell.

I heard Camille slowly move away from the filing cabinet saying, "Well, Dr. Steinman, I appreciate it."

"So, shall we begin? I'll prepare the operating room."

"Good idea," She kept egging him on to get him to go somewhere else so she could escape with her files.

Steinman walked further into his office to get the surgery room ready for Camille. My hand carefully slid to the doorknob, and I opened the door, giving her an avenue to escape from the room before Steinman had the chance to kill her. Camille was standing near the entrance to the surgical suite, a bottle of ether poised over her head ready to strike when the moment came. "NO!" Steinman shrieked. "What's happened?!  _You weren't ready yet!_ " He screamed out. "What did you  _do_?!" He lunged for Camille only to have her give a roar and bring the bottle against his face. She sidestepped another lunge and swung her casted wrist down on his head. "You little bitch!" Steinman growled, clutching his head. "You  _ugly cunt_!"

Camille sprinted past me without even noticing I was there with the files clutched in her hands and glass stuck in her feet. Adrenaline was the only thing keeping her going now, and I would buy her some time. My arm shot out just in time for Steinman to clothesline himself on it, sending him straight to the floor. My arm gave a painful jar from the impact, but I ignored it. I could hear Camille screaming for help, but I knew she'd be fine as long as I kept Steinman at bay. A flurry of curses flew from Steinman, and I backed up from him, occasionally glancing back to make sure I didn't run into anything. Steinman staggered to his feet and glared me down. I could see the blood running down the side of his face where the bottle had connected and his unkempt mustache. His glasses had been abandoned by now, revealing the bloodshot brown eyes he had. "Ah! So you're still here!" He laughed.

"Not for long," I said, spinning on the ball of my foot to connect my heel to his bloodied temple.

I hit the vents as quick as I could, leaving Steinman unconscious on the bloodied floor. I dropped inside of a bathroom and glanced at myself in the mirror. The blood on my face wasn't even my own, but I had to clean up before I returned to Sinclair. Running the tap, I quickly cleaned off what I could to avoid the attention of Sinclair's observant eye and returned to Camille's room where Sinclair was waiting. "There you are!" He smirked standing up from his seat. "I thought you had left me alone here."

"Finding a decent bathroom in this place is a pain," I brushed him off and took a seat beside him, lacing my fingers with his. After that...  _experience_  with Steinman, I was thankful to at least hold Sinclair's perfectly normal, non-bloodstained hand that didn't twirl a scalpel obsessively. I wondered when Camille would return, and for now, I would play the ignorant, but I would confront her about it later.

As if summoned by my thoughts, Camille entered the room looking a little out of breath. My hand moved away from Sinclair's in an instant. "Darlin', we were gettin' worried-" Sinclair started, but frowned. "Where's your doctor?"

Camille looked away for only a second. "Uh, not with me," She replied with a shrug. She peered over her shoulder, looking for someone, but saw no one.

I wondered if she would come clean about what she had done, so I asked, "What's with all the blood?"

She glanced down at her hospital gown as if just noticing the splotches of blood staining the material. From the amount, Steinman for sure was feeling dizzy. "It's not mine," She admitted as if to settle Sinclair who looked absolutely horrified at the amount of blood.

"Honey, are you OK? You're as pale as ash!" He exclaimed, about to stand up.

"I can't really explain it now but... You have to get out of here. Out of Medical. Steinman-"

I was surprised she actually said the man's name. " _Steinman?_ " I played up the disbelief a bit.

"It's his blood. Well, most of it. Look, Jamie, just get Augustus back to his office." I was almost annoyed that she made me out as Sinclair's babysitter as well.

"What about you?" I questioned wondering what stupid idea she had now since it'd take a lot to beat going to see Steinman.

"I'll be fine."

I snorted. "Yeah, right." After what happened in Aesthetic Ideals, I was about to buy a leash for her.

" _Please_ ," She urged, grabbing my wrist and giving it a squeeze.

I tore my arm away from her and crossed my arms. Fine, I'd play this game. "I'll do what you say, because anything that involves Steinman won't end well, but that doesn't mean I don't want answer later." I took Sinclair's hand again and pulled him after me, him giving one last fleeting glance at Camille.

"What in the blazes is goin' on with you two?" He asked forcing me to stop. "You two have been keepin' secrets from me from the moment you two finally started to get along." He crossed his arms and gave me an expectant look, like scolding a child instead of the woman he loved. "What is goin' on, Jamie Donovan?" He was not about to let this drop from what I could tell.

I shook my head and sighed. "Augustus, please. I made a promise to Camille, one I intend to keep. I will tell you in time, but for now, Camille and I need to get this figured out. We don't want anything to happen to you should we get caught." I looked at the ground a little ashamed that Sinclair was becoming upset with me over this. Camille definitely owed me.

Sinclair dipped a finger under my chin and made me look up. He gave me an understanding smile and placed a small kiss on my mouth. I smiled and wrapped my arms around his waist, taking comfort in Sinclair's arms. With the evil I see on a daily basis, I was glad for Sinclair's every constant pleasant presence despite this city going to Hell. And I liked to think that Sinclair found my presence of source of comfort, but I was happy to live in ignorance if that wasn't the case. "Can I stay at your place tonight?" I asked without thinking it over.

In all cases, I could care less anymore. Pauper's Drop had become a place where people were either standing behind Sofia Lamb or they were standing behind Atlas with no middle ground. None of them would care about a girl like me staying with someone like Sinclair anymore and I didn't intend to return to Pauper's Drop for a good while. Tonight, I just wanted some peace and quiet to sleep and if that meant sleeping in the same bed as Sinclair, then by gods I was going to sleep like death.

Sinclair treated Patrick and I to a nice dinner once we reached his apartment and we ate in a comfortable silence before settling Patrick down in the guest bedroom. "Are we gonna stay here for good?" He asked, looking up at me as I covered him up with a quilt I found in the closet of the room.

"Maybe," I answered. "It's becoming more dangerous to go back to the Artemis Suites. We'll have to wait until there's a stalemate or something."

"I miss Charles," He admitted, drawing the quilt up to his chin.

I nodded. "He was a good friend."

I closed the door behind me and walked into Augustus' bedroom. He loaned me an oversized shirt to sleep in, and I immediately started to strip. Sinclair gave me a flustered look and scratched the back of his head. "Not that I don't appreciate seein' you without clothes on, honey, but are you feelin' all right, Jamie?. First, you say you want to spend the night here and now you're changin' in front of me."

I shrugged indifferently and slipped the oversized shirt over my head. "You've already seen me before like this. With..." I trailed off at the thought of Sullivan and that knife. Sinclair put a hand on my shoulder and gently pulled my hair out its ponytail, letting it drape over my shoulders.

"He won't bother you anymore. I'll make sure of it," He reassured gesturing to the bed. I smiled at the fact that he still had no idea of the murder of Sullivan, so that meant he was still safe and in the clear.

I stood next to the side of it for a few moments, watching Sinclair climb in on the other side. All I could do was stare at the open side Sinclair had left for me like some lost child. Sinclair glanced at me once he was settle and asked, "Are you alright, darlin'?"

I shook my head and slowly crawled in to join him, but kept a bit of a distance between him and me. Sinclair only smiled and closed his eyes, not pushing the subject. I looked over at him before my gaze returned to the ceiling. Forcefully, I closed my eyes and went into something of a restless sleep.

* * *

_I was back in the room - cold and damp. I was naked and trapped. "Stubborn brat," I heard my mother sneer as she came out of the dark corners of the room. She snatched my chin in a tight grip, forcing me to look at her decaying skin. "Why don't you just die? Nobody loves you," She taunted. "Not me. Not your precious Augustus Sinclair. Not even that boy." She shoved my head to the side, so I was forced to look at Sullivan lurking in yet another dark corner._

_"Leave me alone," I whimpered, scratching at the table to try and escape. A knife glinted in his hand unnaturally. "No, no! Please!" I begged, staring at the knife. Not again, please not again!_

_"Begging like a bitch," My mother taunted again. Sullivan loomed over me the knife poised to be brought down into my chest. "One last chance to die."_

_The knife came down._

* * *

I jerked awake only an hour later from the nightmare. I sat up and placed my hands in my face letting out a desperate sigh. I thought if the man was dead that I'd be free - that the nightmares would stop and for once I could sleep through the night, but all I could see every time I closed my eyes was the glint of that knife dripping with my blood. That I would stop hearing Sullivan's mocking voice reminding me that I was nothing and no one would come for me, that no one could hear me scream. I jumped when I heard a soft snore escape the man beside me as he scratched the top of his head in his sleep. I smiled, watching him sleep for a few moments. Sullivan was wrong: someone did come for me.

Slowly I slid back down under the covers careful not to jostle the man sleeping next to me. 10 seconds of bravery had me snuggling against Sinclair's side, my head resting comfortably on his shoulder, my hand splayed out on his chest lightly playing with his chest hair. In his sleep, his arm moved around my shoulders and drew me in close. I closed my eyes, and for once, I didn't see Sullivan's face, only a comforting darkness that came with sleep. Cliche, I know, but with the hell surrounding us, I could enjoy this moment of peace sleeping next to Sinclair; enjoying the little things while they lasted. Tomorrow was another day into this civil war between Ryan and Atlas with a few of us standing off to the side watching the massacre: I and Camille standing behind Sinclair and the rest of Rapture not with Atlas or Ryan were standing behind Sofia Lamb.

Some nights I wished this all would end.


	21. Chapter 21

I still felt like Camille's babysitter.

Her strange request to have me guide her through the maintenance shafts halted me for a moment, and I was about to say no, but Sinclair insisted I go or else she'd fare the streets by herself and the possibility of her getting killed was higher. If I didn't love him, I would have told him to shove his guilt-trip up his ass. I let Patrick lead to make sure he knew where all the splicer nests were again since we hadn't used the maintenance tunnels in a while. Thankfully, he remembered it down to the 10-second wait at junction 36.

She had the gall to involve Bill McDonagh in her desperation to prove that the body hanging in Ryan's gallery  _wasn't_  Frank Fontaine. I believed her, but she knew that Bill would agree to her request regardless of how crazy they were and that pissed me off. Bill was a good man with a good head on his shoulders to be drawn into something that didn't involve him directly. I got my point across to her that if anything were to happen to him while running her fool's errand that I would hold her personally responsible and she would not like the result. I once respected Camille as a worthy adversary, as someone who I could trust a little farther than I could throw her, but now she had taken my trust of her and shoved it in my face to do as she pleases.

But as crazy as she was going about this, the evidence all pointed to the fact that Frank Fontaine was still alive, only with a different face provided for him by one Dr. J. Steinman.

For a moment, I looked in the direction of Sinclair's end table and the drawer where I had stuffed the medical file put together by Steinman that Camille had retrieved from the mad man's office. I had only glanced it over when she handed it to me, but I closed it quickly in a moment of pure disgust. I didn't know how Steinman had gotten a full frontal picture of me, but the things he had drawn on it for 'enhancements' and 'modifications' made me refuse to open it again after Camille had handed it to me. Just the thought of what he had planned to do to me did not sit well in my stomach and almost made me hurl from the amount of detail he went into when it came to describing how much he hated my face.

There was one document though that scared me more than the rest of Steinman's insanity: a single document sent to Gil Alexander from Yi Suchong about a genetic match for the ADAM slug trials. The date was December 22, 1953 - when I went in for stitches for my back. The patient file I had thought I had stolen was just that: a patient file. It showed my medical history, but patient records can be seen at any point by the patient. The file Camille gave me was one that wasn't supposed to be seen by me, but how did Steinman get a hold of it?

"Honey? You okay?" Sinclair asked, slightly leaning over me. I looked up at him without saying a word and shifted into a more comfortable position on his shark leather couch that I had unofficially claimed as my own.

I finally gave him a nod to satisfy his question, and he leaned down, placing a small kiss on my forehead. "You've been quiet these pas' coupl'a days. It's startin' to worry me."

"I'm sorry then. But there's not much to say." I sat up and hopped up to my feet. "I've got something to check up on. I'll tell you the results." I gave him a half-assed wave and jumped up into the vents, the only place I could feel safe in Rapture anymore and even that was a death wish.

I hadn't seen Bill at the Fighting McDonagh's for a while ever since he had helped Camille get that little bit of DNA from the corpse hanging on Ryan's wall.

I dropped through the vent to Bill's office, still not seeing him anywhere which wasn't all that odd if Rapture wasn't falling apart at the seams, but Rapture was at a point where repairs were pointless now. His pneumo was mostly empty except for a note from Camille of all people explaining the results of the DNA test she had Gil run: The codes didn't match. Well, I'll be damned.

I searched his desk for any sign of where he could be and quickly found an Accu-Vox that he recently been recorded. I shook my head and quickly pressed play.

 _"I never killed a man, let alone a mate. But this is what things come to. I don't know if killing Mr. Ryan will stop the war, but I know it won't stop while that man breathes. I love Mr. Ryan. But I love Rapture. If I have to kill one to save the other, so be it."_  The recording came to a stop.

"Oh no... Bill." I was in the vents once more crawling well into Hephaestus faster than I had ever moved before. I dropped down right in front of the doors leading into the hall where Ryan kept his trophies which included the bodies of 'Frank Fontaine' and Anya Andersdotter (Ryan's "Assassin"). I paused for a moment outside of the door before stepping close enough for the bulkhead to slide open on its own.

There was a new body - horribly burned from the looks of it - hanging on the first pillar on the right. I could still smell the flesh on the corpse sizzling from the amount of heat used from an Incinerate. He really tried to kill Andrew Ryan, but failed. Bill McDonagh was dead. "Shit, Bill... Why?" I questioned the corpse like he was going to respond. I couldn't even blame Camille for this. McDonagh went and played with fire and now he was burnt to a crisp hanging on Ryan's Trophy Wall.

If only Bill realized that Rapture was already lost even if he killed Andrew Ryan, that Atlas would take over, or hell, even Lamb would try and stake her claim on Rapture causing yet another war between Atlas' and Lamb's followers.

I left the hall with a slight tremble in my body, noticeable when I pulled myself up into the vents. The last person with a sane head on his shoulders was gone leaving nothing there to stop Ryan from doing something incredibly stupid in a mad attempt to stop Atlas.

I returned dutifully to the Sinclair Tower to make sure Sinclair didn't end up sleeping in his office again for the 3rd night in a row and perhaps tell Camille that Bill was dead.

At least I was going to return to his office, until I saw a very familiar and very unwanted Irish revolutionary in a dark overcoat and a skull-knit cap covering his blonde hair. He was flanked by a few rather dangerous looking Splicers with several boils, bulbous flesh, and deformities covering their bodies, each armed with plasmids and weapons to compensate for Irishman's lack-thereof. The rest of the splicers appeared almost out of the shadows which made me applaud them for the ability to hide in plain sight; a trick that took me a while to accomplish.

I ducked into the shadows and observed the scene with a careful set of eyes.

"Betty?" Atlas questioned which made me want to smash my head against a wall repeatedly. Of  _course_  he was here for Camille, and of  _course_ , Camille just had to meet up with him. Atlas pushed his way through the crowd to get closer to Adler with a grin spread across his face. "Well, ain't you a sight for sore eyes. You look a helluva lot better than when I last saw ya."

"I... I can't believe you came here," Camille said rather dumbly if I do say so myself. "I mean, the security around here and..." She means me. "You're a wanted man! And-"

I glared as Atlas raised his hand to silence her. "I get around the city well enough, Betty." Through the smuggler tunnels which can only get him so far, then he depends on his splicers to cause a distraction while he travels from place to place. I had him tagged from the moment me and him met. "Besides, Ms. McClintock here said that you wanted ta speak with me. How could I ignore that?" Easily. "A Sinclair Solutions employee, eh?" He gave a quick shake of his head. "I'll tell ya now, I didn't see  _that_  comin'."

"She told you, huh?" I nearly smacked my hand against my face, noting that she was still wearing her ID that anyone still literate could figure out that she worked for Sinclair Solutions. Of course, the lot that runs with Atlas could be questionable when it comes to their intelligence. "I don't blame her, I guess."

"And I don't blame  _you_. I know you're not like Sinclair, or the others in his orbit." My fists clenched tightly together, my fingernails almost breaking through the skin. How dare he speak about Sinclair like that. "You're even helpin' us out. Now, that ain't like no Sinclair employee  _I've_  ever known."

"And just how many  _have_  you known?" She challenged smartly.

Atlas didn't reply - caught in his own twist of words. "So," He started to change the subject, crossing his arms, "Why the sudden change o' heart? Last time I saw ya, well, ya weren't too friendly. Have I grown on ya?"

"No," She mumbled at first and I almost didn't catch what the woman had said. She repeated after a moment, "No. You haven't  _grown_  on me. My opinion of you hasn't changed all that much. But I've been doing some thinking. A  _lot_  of thinking. If Rapture's come down to Ryan or you..." She hesitated to finish, biting her bottom lip in her usual nervous tick.

Atlas urged her to continue with a subtle raise of an eyebrow. "If that's what it's come down to, I know where I wanna be. I don't like you, or what you do, but you and I want the same thing - freedom. That's reason enough for me to get behind you."

I was thinking that Atlas' smile couldn't have gotten any bigger, but I was proven wrong with his pearly white teeth showing more than before. "Well, this is an interestin' turn of events. Ya sure about this, lass? Once you go up against Ryan, it ain't somethin' you can change your mind about. It's bloody dangerous." No kidding. One wrong move and she could end up another trophy on Ryan's wall or dangling from the gallows. And if she thought I would always be around to play the ever mysterious bodyguard she had a rude awakening for her.

"If you get me out of this city, I'll do whatever it takes." She thrust out her hand for him to shake. "What do you say, Atlas?"

"I'm more'n happy to have ya, Betty, But is this what  _you_  want?" He made a gesture to the Sinclair Tower. "You wanna give all this up? I imagine you're well off, good job, money, security. You wanna give all o' t'at up and run with us?"

"I can't do this –  _this_ – anymore," she replied, gesturing to Sinclair Tower. "I can't. Nothing that I have is worth the destruction of the city. Yes, I want to give it all up. I want to get  _out of here_. As much as I'd rather not, I have to join you. I  _know_  you can do it." My glare turned from Atlas to Camille.

"And what'll you offer me in return?" Atlas asked. "I don't just take anyone in without askin' for a little hard work in return."

That caught Camille off guard. What did she expect? That he was just going to accept her without a little insurance that she wasn't just a waste of air and using him to escape when he had followers to lead and promise the same thing. "W-what do you  _want_  me to do?"

"Well, what  _can_  you do?" Atlas asked quickly.

"I… I'll do what Diane does. Looting places for resources."

He made a small noise of contemplation and asked, "have ya ever done anyt'in' like that before? It's not as easy as it looks, ya know."

"I'll read all those medical manuals. I'll learn how to help you, your followers. I can do that, right?"

"I have information. About Ryan. His plans, his actions against you… That's what working in this place has done for me. I can help you with that. Among other things. I'm privy to a lot of reports and correspondence." My glare hardened. More like  _I_  had information that was downright juicy and she had the business side of that information which wasn't the full truth half the time. But to top it off, giving information on Ryan meant giving information on Sinclair and ultimately me, throwing us all under a bus.

Atlas chuckled darkly having already thought through the same thing as me. "So, ya'd throw all these people under the bus if it meant gettin' my approval?"

"No, I didn't mean it like that… It's just that – well, you could use someone like me. To keep you two steps ahead of Ryan. Right?" Atlas looked deep in thought over the whole thing. "Please?" she begged.

I glanced over Atlas' group of Splicers, noting how quiet they had been despite the obvious addiction to ADAM they possessed and looked at Atlas like he was some kind of god. Pathetic.

"Ya seem dedicated enough," he agreed, a smile on his face.

He gently took hold of her plastered hand and gave it a shake, sealing the deal.

"So… What now?" Camille questioned slowly.

"Get your affairs in order. I expect ya have a lot to sort here," Atlas answered. His gaze was on the neon sign that said  _Sinclair Solutions._  "When yer ready, head to Apollo Square. It's safe from Ryan. Someone'll getcha and bring ya to me."

"That's it? I just have to hang around Apollo Square waiting for you?" she snapped, obviously finding the request a little ridiculous.

"Ya have so little faith in me, don't ya?" Atlas said, chuckling. "I should let ya get back to it, then."

"I guess," she muttered. "That's it?"

"That's it," he answered, turning to face the Splicers. With a wave to the group he was with, they disappeared back into the depths of Rapture.

"Oh God, what did I just do?" she muttered to herself. I ducked inside the Sinclair Tower to give her a firm piece of my mind. She just signed a deal with the devil and didn't even realize it.

Camille stopped walking for a moment when her eyes laid on me. She knew exactly what she was in for. I leant against the nearby wall and crossed my arms. I wasn't going to try and make her see reason: she was far too stubborn for that. But I had to at least make her think this through carefully. "Please tell me I didn't hear what I think I just heard,"

She mimicked my stance more for defense than offense like my own. "What's it to  _you_?" She asked, a cold tone to the words. And here I thought we were finally good friends.

"Nothing," I responded, shrugging. "You can do what you like, Adler. But I know a few people who won't be too happy. Like Augustus Sinclair, for one."

"Tell him. I don't care. I'm done here."

"I thought you were smarter than this. Atlas? He's got you wrapped around his finger. You're gonna join him and then what?"

"I'm gonna get out of this city. Look, if that's all you have to say, then I have work to do." She brushed past me and crawled into the elevator, leaving me alone in the foyer.

"Just know, Miss Adler," I said to no one in particular. "If you go through with this, you're on your own. If you compromise Sinclair, I will not hesitate to burn Atlas' little mission to the ground."

I gave a glare in the direction Camille left and kicked off the wall. I was going to let Camille be the one to tell Sinclair she was quitting - I could care less. I just wanted to go home and sleep off a headache starting to form because of this whole mess.

With a quick goodbye to Sinclair, I hit the vents taking my time in returning to Apollo Square and my apartment. Despite the war, Apollo Square remained mostly intact aside from the trams being blown off their tracks, killing a good amount of people in the process. So using the express was no longer an option. Things had started to finally calm down now that Ryan had basically given up on retaking Apollo Square and pulled his security out. No point in getting killed trying to take back a lost cause.

I coughed out of nowhere on something foul in the air, pumping through the vents. "What the-?" My question was cut off by more coughing, this time harder than before and a pain in my chest from my lungs being cut off from decent oxygen.

The pheromone... So Gil finished it...

Desperately crawling toward the nearest vent I could find, I tore it open and fell through not caring where it ended up just as long as I could breathe. My back slammed painfully into the ground, knocking the wind out of me making the cough worse. I must have landed in the main square since I could hear the sounds of more people coughing as well and insane splicers screaming for Atlas to save them.

* * *

I felt dizzy and cold, yet sweat beaded my forehead despite the shivers I was feeling. I still couldn't move from where I had landed painfully on my back and the night was rolling in. I coughed hoarsely into my arm and stared at the glass roof overlooking Apollo Square, showing an expansive view of the surface miles above our heads. "Wha's this li'l fish?" I heard a voice ask, dripping with insanity. "Wond'r if she gots any ADAM..." A grotesque looking Splicer leaned over my body, looking for any sign of ADAM on my person.

He would be sorely disappointed.

The ground shuddered beneath my fingers and a groan echoed around the area. "Uh oh... Need ta run! No li'l fish is worth toein' it with de metal daddy!" The splicer screeched and took off, leaving me to lie there on the ground, too dizzy to move.

I groaned and finally rolled on to my stomach the pain in my spine becoming more evident. "Dammit..." I cursed struggling up to my hands and knees.

My body shivered uncontrollably in protest to my movements, but with the steady thumping of a Big Daddy approaching; I had to make my escape.

"Look, daddy!" a distorted child's voice rang out. "It's an angel!" I looked up sharply. Not even 10 feet fro me was a Little Sister accompanied by her metal bodyguard hovering over the body of a female recently dead.

I squinted my eyes at the familiar face of the child: Masha Lutz, daughter of Sammy and Mariska Lutz who worked at the Fighting McDonagh's and lived there in the apartments above it. Why was she a Little Sister? Unless Ryan was really desperate enough to create new Little Sisters using the citizens' children, not that I wouldn't put it past him.

Ever so slowly, I staggered to my feet and took careful steps backward away from the Big Daddy (Rosie Series). My arms wrapped protectively around my ribs having been rattled in the fall. I could tell that they weren't broken, but the more likely scenario was that a few were bruised.

The walk was slow back to my lonely little apartment (pure hell walking up the stairs).

Time had passed since that day, Camille taking off without a word and later I had discovered her with Atlas when they made a raid on Sinclair Spirits. The girl thought she could hide from me and I knew she was trying. She didn't want me to know where she was and at times went out of her way to avoid my haunts. The stupid girl was going to get herself killed.

Sinclair was... upset is the best word to describe it, but it took two weeks before he finally took her DNA out of the system, causing problems for the raid. It was cute when she tried to copy what I did on a normal basis, but in all I realized that this was more a test of loyalty than an actual raid since Sinclair barely kept anything in the safe in the wine cellar (Atlas called it a 'secret room' when in reality it was just a wine cellar to keep drunks from making off with his alcohol). Sure, there was a safe down there, but Sinclair mostly kept some rainy-day funds inside along with a few guns in case things got crazy in the bar area.

I stayed away from her as much as I could, but I still found myself watching from a distance to see how she was faring and to intervene without being seen when there were far too many Splicers for them to handle.

She never made any attempt to contact me or Sinclair which was fine by me.

But if she was going to be crawling around in the vents, I at least had to give her a bit of a hand even if I didn't like it. The only thing going through my mind as I crawled through the vents with a piece of chalk writing different directions on the sides was that she  _was_  a friend and I still felt responsible for her. I wrote down the names of the main areas Atlas and his band of morons mostly went and finally dropped out of the vent once I arrived at Apollo Square once again.

Now I wouldn't feel guilty if she gets killed by a crawler in the vent.

I worked hard to collect enough supplies from apartments long abandoned or the residents still dead within so that Patrick, Sinclair and I could still eat to keep up our strength. It was mostly canned goods like fruit and meat, but it was better than starving to death in this place. I even learned how to hack the vending machines to access a few of the food items inside (earning a few electric burns in the learning process). We stayed mostly in Sinclair's office in the Sinclair Tower, but I still returned to my apartment to sleep somewhat decent instead of on his shark leather couch.

I awoke one night with a jolt from someone banging on my door. I sat up sharply, listening for any sign that it was a splicer trying to break his way in, but the pounding was too systematically, the raps like that of someone desperately trying to gain my attention. Well, they had it.

I got up adjusting the pair of night shorts I wore along with my nightshirt (a gift from Sinclair as a joke), walking silently to the door as the pounding got harder. Patrick wandered out of his room rubbing the sleep from his eyes. "Who is it?" He mumbled.

I shrugged and glanced through the peep hole. Well, I'll be damned... I opened the door sharply and glared at Camille who had none other than Atlas and Diane behind her. I almost said 'Camille', but quickly switched back to, "Betty? What in the hell are you doing here?" Patrick let out a small gasp.

Camille gave an apologetic smile and responded, "I was hoping you would listen."

I shifted my stance and crossed my arms, my eyebrows knitting together. "And am I going to like what I'm possibly going to listen to?"

"More than likely not."

I sighed and allowed my  _former_  (I use the word hesitantly) friend inside followed by the man who made my blood boil and the woman who I could care less about. Camille sat herself down on my couch while Atlas stood off to her right with his arms crossed. Diane took a seat hesitantly next to Camille, looking around like being in my apartment again was a foreign thing. "All right, I'm listening."

"What? No offer of coffee?" Atlas made a jab.

Patrick hovered near me protectively. "Shut your mouth," I hissed almost immediately after he commented. "I thought I made it clear the last time we met that I don't like you?" He didn't flinch; only smiled and shifted his stance to get more comfortable.

Camille cleared her throat loudly catching both of our attentions. "Hawkeye," She started, returning to the little moniker so that Atlas wouldn't know my real name. Chances are he knew who my mother was and that was something I didn't want getting out, even to Camille since Dusky Donovan was a popular name at the Pearl even if she was dead. "We're planning an attack on Ryan himself to get his genetic key. We poured over the maintenance tunnel maps day in and day out but found no clear way into Hephaestus without tripping some sort of alarm. Except..."

"Except the ventilation shafts," I filled in the blanks of what they wanted me to do: Play tour guide through the vents. I was just happy that she didn't dance around the subject of asking for my help.

"Correct," Diane chipped in her 5 cents but was quickly silenced again by a glare I sent her way. "The ventilation shafts are our only shot at getting Ryan or at least the key. From what Betty has told us, you're the only person that knows the vents that isn't insane."

I nodded at that fact since the only other people who shared the vents with me were the Crawlers, and even then, they crawled around randomly with no destination in mind other than finding ADAM and killing whoever stood in their way. "Who came up with this brilliant plan? Boy wonder?" I cocked my head at Atlas who narrowed his eyes in response.

Diane bristled, straightened her back and answered, "I came up with it since I know Ryan's office best. You - apparently - know the ventilation system and if you're as good as Betty makes you out to be: you've already accounted for tunnel collapses and hot spots for the splicers in the vents."

I averted my eyes for a second before they returned to Camille. " Here's a fun question: Why on earth would I want to help you?"

Atlas took a step towards me and said, "We get the genetic key ta Rapture an' that means we have access to the bathyspheres: A way out."

I glared harshly and snapped, "Even for Augustus Sinclair?" Atlas was killing Camille's chances at getting me to cooperate here. I could  _feel_  his anger boiling about Sinclair, knowing he didn't like the man. Tough shit.

Atlas sighed and reluctantly nodded. It seemed promising Sinclair a way out of this place was the same as pulling teeth with a pliers, but if he wanted me to help, I had to guarantee Sinclair's safe passage out.

He glanced at Patrick for just a second, but it made me uncomfortable. I stood more in front of my son, shielding him from the Irishman. "So we have a deal?" Atlas questioned, holding out his hand.

I stared at it and promptly ignored it looking to Camille. "Here's how it will go though," I started to count off on my fingers, "You will follow every instruction I give with no hesitation. Any questions and I will leave you to flounder in those vents. There is only one speed: My speed. Can't keep up, don't show up. Splicers roam around constantly in the vents and will snatch you up if you don't move fast enough. With the pheromone pumping through the vents, there will be no mercy when they gut you like a pig."

I felt a slight burn of the 'ATLAS' scar and finally realized which arm I had used to list off my conditions. Atlas was staring at it a look of pure shock. My fist clenched, and I brought my arm to rest on my stomach protectively. Atlas made no notion to ask about it and just shook his head like he was trying to shake the image from his mind.

"You will meet me on top of the King Pawn building tomorrow night. You will bring what you need, but remember: The vents are small and can't carry much, especially the ones around Hephaestus," I finished turning toward my door. I opened it up wide and gestured for them to leave.

Atlas smiled appreciatively and gave me a nod. He was the first to leave with Diane on his tail like a love-struck puppy. He stopped next to Patrick, and I immediately put myself between them. "You 'ave a good lad. Looks like he takes care of his mum. Protects her," He commented out of the blue.

"You'll take care to keep your comments about my son to yourself or else something might...  _happen_ to you. Say: an accident of a mysterious nature?" I passive-aggressively threatened. He finally walked out of my apartment and Patrick and I almost visibly let out a sigh of relief.

Camille stopped in the door frame and glanced back at me. "Why did you agree?"

I scratched at the raised scarred skin of my arm, unconsciously tracing the carving. "Because sitting around waiting for Ryan to croak isn't getting anywhere. I still think you're an idiot for throwing your lot in with Atlas, but I don't control your life."

"How is Sinclair?"

"He's fine." I didn't want to harden up against her, but she didn't deserve to know much about him.

"When you see him: Tell him I'm sorry."

"Duly noted. Now get out. I still have to catch up on some sleep."

Camille opened her mouth to retort but decided against it. Instead, she turned on her heel and followed Atlas and Diane back to the Little Sister Orphanage no doubt.

Atlas was getting desperate: That was for sure. With the pheromone getting spread around, Atlas was losing troops and fast since he couldn't maneuver with the same finesse in places like Athena's Glory without causing a stir forcing him to remain in the drop zones of the pheromone. This attack on Ryan was a gutsy move, but smart to a point, still borderline suicidal.

I ran a hand through my long hair and looked at it blankly. A nasty run-in with a splicer had me questioning whether I should keep my hair as long as it is since the splicer managed to grab my braid and pull hard. I almost had my throat slit for ADAM I didn't possess.

Perhaps it was time for a hasty haircut.


	22. Chapter 22

I sat on top of the King Pawn sign, watching a woman scream as she was dragged away by some Splicer by her long, caked-with-blood blonde hair. I could have cared less anymore since it was something I saw more than I'd like to. My hand snaked up to the choppy, surprisingly even switchblade-haircut I had given myself to be rid of the long hair I had grown over the years. My head still felt lighter like it was going to float off my shoulders. Sinclair would freak when he saw my hair, but until then I would keep quiet.

Patrick crawled up the building to join me. "They just left the poor home. They'll be here in a few minutes."

I still had no idea why I was here aside from doing this for Camille. Someone like me could easily get into Ryan's office and _take_ the genetic key since I almost always had the element of surprise; just a wallflower watching from the background. I would have been the last person that Ryan would have expected to come to him, but I digressed: if Ryan had an army on hand it would be a nightmare to get back out and surely I wouldn't make it to the vents.

"Head home. If I'm not back in 5 hours, you know what to do," I ordered. Patrick nodded and slipped off toward a vent - the same vent I would be using to get to Hephaestus.

I glanced around at the ever changing Pauper's Drop, clearly under Lamb's matriarchy. Her little flock had posted several dozen posters depicting Lamb as their savior over the posters of Atlas and covered the walls with Anti-Ryan slogans. I swear I saw the hulking mass that used to be a tiny runt named Leo Hartwig running around about the size of a full grown gorilla.

"That girl'd better show up," I heard the tell-tale Irish accent of Atlas echo around the mostly empty plaza. Oh man of little faith, I hope he chokes on something sharp. Just saying.

"She'll be here," Camille defended rather slowly meaning even she was doubting that I'd show up.

"She didn't specify a time." And of course they brought Diane with them. "Oh! But I thought I saw that boy when we left. She could have him as a lookout?"

"She'll know when we're here. She and Patrick have been working in unison since before I knew about her." I didn't like Camille revealing any more information about Patrick. I didn't like the way Atlas had talked about him like he was a juicy morsel that he could use to his advantage.

They were packing heat, that was for sure: Atlas carried a shotgun in his arms with another slung over his back. There was a pistol on his hip and a knife strapped to his boot for emergencies. Diane had a satchel with her as well as a machine gun that she was unconsciously looking over and performing several function checks to make sure the gun would work properly and not jam up. Camille carried around the pistol gifted to her from Fontaine with a bit of an upgrade it seemed along with her bag that no doubt held extra rounds for it as well as grenades.

What did I have? My switchblade. But I was just a guide so the knife was mostly for close quarters.

I finally stood up from my perched and dropped, landing in a crouch in front of the trio visibly startling Diane. Camille and Atlas didn't even flinch - Camille used to it by now and Atlas... I'm sure nothing surprised him anymore. "You came prepared," I said brushing my pants as I stood straight up.

"This is a big deal," Diane remarked, nodding like she was answering a question. "We don't leave anything to chance."

"Then we'd better get moving," I suggested, gesturing for them to follow me. I led them to the designated vent that would take us to Hephaestus.

The air was visibly stale from the lack of clean air. The fan in these vents had long since broken from a stupid splicer deciding it was a good idea to try and go through them for a quicker route to Apollo Square. We still got air, but it wasn't the best.

I moved quick, the others struggling to keep up, but I couldn't say I didn't warn them because I did. Everyone was silent at least so that no one would alert a nearby crawler. Only once we had to stop when I heard the clinking of the metal hooks on the metal of the vents along with a manic cackle from the owner. The switchblade was quickly out of my sleeve and clenched tightly in my fingers.

I had to stop Atlas from cocking his pistol since shooting in the vent was both stupid and dangerous.

A little over an hour went by, and I finally pulled up a vent cover and dropped into one of the Hephaestus workshops. It was hot as hell from the magma flowing through the place, and for a moment I felt sorry for my mother who used to work here, but disregarded the thought as quick as it came. The bitch was dead, so what did it matter? "We made it," Camille panted out, wiping her hand across her face.

I heard Atlas and Diane drop out shortly after she said that and I glanced back at them. "We ain't out of the fucking woods yet. Be alert," I warned quietly as to not draw attention to ourselves.

The workshops still looked like a slaughterhouse with bodies strewn about, some with bullet holes in various body parts while others were torn apart by makeshift weapons like the hooks the crawlers use. "What in the hell happened here?" Diane nearly gasped, her breath shaky.

"In-fighting. Working so close to Ryan, a lotta people got crazy. Some wanted to kill him; others wanted to fight for him." My thoughts momentarily flashed to the charred body of McDonagh, and I glanced at Camille at the same time. It was more than likely her fault that Bill decided to go after Ryan. "It was a bloody circus down here."

"Did anyone get close to killing Ryan?" Diane asked tearing me from my remorseful thoughts of Bill.

"Yeah," I replied a little bitter. "They're hanging on his trophy wall."

We continued, the trio doing most of the work with dispatching Splicers while my switchblade remained tucked in my sleeve once again. They looted their corpses for anything of use, finding things like spare ammunition and bits of snacks from the vending machines. Atlas was getting restless though. "Where's Ryan's office? This is just tha workshops!"

No shit. "We use the workshops to _get_ to Ryan's office, dumbass. There's no direct route. What, do you think he just has open vents in his office? He's not stupid." Atlas seemed to huff in annoyance with having me take the lead. He'd have to suck it up for 20 more minutes.

We crawled through yet another vent into an adjoining maintenance workshop and I stopped the group's movement immediately. Splicers had dug themselves in with turrets and proximity mines laid out to prevent anybody from getting close. Camille pressed a revolver in my hand and my fingers curled around the grip, my finger dancing over the trigger.

We ran for cover behind overturned furniture, firing a few defensive shots at the splicers who returned fire. The turrets almost made it impossible to pop out from cover. Camille took a risky move and leaned out to lob a grenade behind the barricade. It helped, but she took a graze to her leg. The explosion killed most of the splicers and set off a chain reaction of exploding turrets. I dared to stand up from cover to watch it only to drop back down when debris flew towards me threatening to slice me in half. It was spectacular, but the near death experience didn't help.

I waited until it was quiet before coming out again. Atlas let out a small victory whoop and grinned. Camille staggered her way out of cover, once again having been injured during a splicer fight. At least it wasn't the worst she's ever had. "Nice one, Betty,' Atlas praised, clapping her on the shoulder. He then noticed the pain on her face. "Ya okay?"

"Just grazed me, that's all. Not bad," She said through clenched teeth. I shook my head at her stubbornness.

Atlas made a makeshift bandage from his shirt and tied it around her thigh. "We'll get ya fixed up when we get outta here, 'kay?" She nodded in agreement.

I rolled my eyes and said, "We need to get moving. Ryan probably already knows something's up." I watched a nearby camera move away from our position. It was more than likely that Ryan already knew we were here from that camera alone. I led them to another vent much more quickly than before. The temperature had gotten increasingly warmer from the rest of the vents, but we were getting closer to the magma pipes.

"Slow it down!" Atlas grunted after me. "We'll lose ya."

I rolled my eyes and snorted, "Wouldn't _that_ be a shame." I wished I could lose Atlas, take Camille and get the fuck out of here.

We finally dropped into the atrium, and Camille quickly glanced around. My eyes fell on Bill's decaying body, the most visible one to me among the other dozen bodies hanging like game on the wall. "Bill McDonagh," I said flatly to Camille, jerking my chin toward his corpse.

Camille let out a gasp. "Oh God..." Her fingers tightened on her shotgun.

Atlas shifted uncomfortably, "Know the others?"

"Anya Andersdotter and Stanley Kyburz. The rest I can't recognize to identify." That wasn't completely a lie. The other bodies on the wall were too shriveled to identify, but from Camille's lab test done on 'Fontaine's' corpse, he wasn't Frank Fontaine. Chances are, Fontaine escaped the city when he had the chance. I couldn't find a trace of him anywhere without butting heads with Atlas since he took over pretty much everything with Fontaine's name on it.

"Come on. We've got a key to find."

Diane's head moved around. "Ryan's office is just through there..." she murmured gesturing to the locked door.

"There's the vent we'll be taking into the next chamber, adjacent to his office," I explained, pointing to the grate we'd be pulling off. The others stared curiously at the wires crackling with blue electricity attached to the door. "Magnetic lock," I pointed out. "Powered by an off-site generator. Ryan's a paranoid bastard."

"Good thing we ain't walkin' through the front door," Atlas remarked dryly. If I actually liked him, I would have found that a bit funny.

We made our way across the atrium using the shadows as cover. Two cameras stood in the way of us getting to Ryan, and Camille quickly shot them both clean through the lenses. She wasn't quick enough. _"It seems there's an infestation..._ Atlas _and his merry band of rats have found their way to my door. How bold!"_

"Oh goddammit," Atlas cursed.

 _"Obviously the current state of affairs has taught you nothing. This is_ my _city! My citizens are exceedingly loyal and won't let you anywhere near me. I don't know what foolish impulse compelled you to come here - especially_ you _, Diane - but it was a foolish impulse nonetheless. It seems I shall have to find room for four more trophies..."_

The lights went out, and I spread my stance, gun at the ready to shoot anything that moved at this point (even Atlas). Crazed laughter echoed through the atrium along with the tell-tale sounds of plasmids crackling and hissing. Shit was about to hit the fan...

Security bots appeared almost out of no where, beeping in alarm at us ready to take fire. " _Run!_ " Diane shrieked trying to run for the doors, but the doors had already sealed shut thanks to Ryan.

Smoke flooded the atrium and I automatically knew it was the pheromone. My nose was pressed into my sleeve and I shouted, "He's trying to suffocate us!"

That was when the splicers swarmed us, plasmids of all types nipping at us. I nearly screamed in pure agony when one of the splicers managed to land a stream of Electrobolt on me. I barely had the strength to turn around and stick a bullet in his skull. Bots exploded overhead from well-placed shots from Camille, but the shower of shrapnel rained almost on top of me, cutting up my flesh with bits of hot metal. My switchblade was in my hand, and the blade flipped open, embedded in the chest of a splicer that got too close for comfort.

Diane hurled grenades to try and dissipate the group around her which gave us some light when they detonated. It succeeded in sending them back and giving her a moment to breathe. Atlas blasted his shotgun into as many splicers as he could, but a stray hook clipped his shoulder, the second missing him.

I stabbed another splicer in the back of the neck and flipped over his shoulder, my hand replacing the knife's place. With a burst of strength, I launched the body over my shoulder into another splicer that had flipped off Camille. I stuck two rounds in her chest as quickly as I could to prevent any more damage from coming to Camille.

I barely had time to turn around when a spider splicer seemed to appear behind me, clasping his limbs around my torso. I knew exactly what was going to happen, but I couldn't even squirm, the effects of the Electrobolt making it difficult.

Before he could make the jump to take me elsewhere, Camille dove for his legs, knocking us to the ground. I used that to escape and leap to my feet, slamming my foot down on his face several times until something cracked in his skull. For paranoia's sake, I put a round in between his eyes.

I grabbed Camille's arm and pulled her to her feet. "We're getting out of here!" I shouted over the gunfire.

"Diane!" Camille protested, " _Atlas!_ I can't leave them! They'll die!"

"And we'll _all_ die if we stay here!" I grabbed her wrist and tugged her toward the vent that would get us out of here.

The room illuminated from Diane's grenades and it was obvious that there were more splicers than we could deal with. My arm gave a jerk when a splicer leaped on Camille. I went for the shotgun just as she desperately grabbed hold of a wrench and gave the splicer a good crack in the skull with it. I finished it off with an electrified buckshot.

My lungs burned from the smoke and I choked out, "We can't _breathe_! We need to go!" Sinclair was waiting.

We ran as fast as we could for the vent, Camille giving one last backward glance at the two she was leaving behind. I couldn't have cared less as long as we got out with our limbs still intact. I had her drag herself into the vent first with me right behind her. "Go!" I urged giving her rear-end a push. "Damn you!"

She crawled obediently, which I was grateful for, listening to my instructions and directions without question. Camille was slowly losing consciousness from the hit to the head she suffered, but I kept her going, unwilling to lose her now. I got her into the next vent and got her moving more. "Don't nod off on me. Move your ass, Adler!"

What seemed like a miracle, we made it back to Pauper's Drop. I managed to drag her to the King Pawn store and sat her down against the ledge. I placed my hand on the bleeding wound on the side of her head and noted her dilated pupils. "You're probably concussed," I diagnosed stuffing the revolver into the waist of my trousers.

"No shit..." She groaned moving her hand up to wipe some of the blood away. "I left them. I left them to die."

"We're not dead. That's all that matters," I pointed out and raked my fingers through my now short hair. I barely noticed the blood pooling out of my sleeve, and a cough raged against my lungs and throat. "We need to get somewhere safe." Safe mostly for Camille. I had already picked out a location for Sinclair to hide should the time arise, but Camille needed to be scarce for a while. And there was only one other person in this city that anyone could count on to be sane. "I think I know where to go."

I hauled her to her feet and helped her down from the roof. Camille protested each movement, desperately wanting to sleep, but I kept pushing her on. "One more hour, tops. And then you can sleep on a somewhat comfortable bed," I reassured, tightening my grip on her arm to help her keep standing.

Apollo Square was surprisingly quiet for the most part as we neared the destination I had in mind. My muscles twitched still from the Electrobolt I took, but I promptly ignored it. I had things to do than worry about what a little bit of electricity would do to me.

I finally banged on the door to a closed off maintenance office and shouted, "Tenenbaum!"

Camille perked up at the kraut scientist's name. She grabbed my shoulder a little roughly and asked, "You knew where she was this whole time?"

I tore my shoulder away from her and said, "You never asked." Another cough wracked my body, tearing apart my lungs. Camille gave me a slightly sympathetic look at the coughing fit, but I ignored it. I banged on the door again and shouted again, "Don't make me break the door down, Tenenbaum!"

The door finally slid open to reveal a very annoyed German scientist dressed in a nightgown. "What is it you want?" she questioned, her accent as thick as ever. Tenenbaum's harsh gaze at me quickly softened when it switched over to Camille. "Miss Adler! Bring her inside," She ushered us both inside and locked the door behind us.

There were bunk beds lining the walls of the abandoned maintenance office, each bed holding one or two little girls: former Little Sisters. They had already started to doodle on the walls and floors in crayon depicting their views of what the sun looked like and pictures of their former Big Daddies about as detailed as a child could draw with crayons. A few woke up with a stir, gave us a tired glance before setting back under the sheets and returning to their dreamlands. I stared at them thinking only one thing: they were just like me - robbed of a childhood and living in a state of hell finding solace only in their dreams.

I almost could imagine a young Jamie Donovan sleeping on the steps of a storefront before Grace took mercy on me. Clenching my jaw, I followed Tenenbaum and Camille to Tenenbaum's office so that Camille could get her head check out by the kraut. I stayed outside to allow them some privacy and gazed around at the little girls all asleep.

I jumped when a little hand reached out and tugged on my shirt. The little girl shot back a little frightened that I would hurt her for touching me. "I'm sorry..." she muttered clutching one of those Big Daddy dolls that the Little Sisters liked to make.

I sighed and knelt down to her level. "No, I'm sorry for scaring you. You just startled me, that's all. What are you doing still awake?" I questioned giving her a slightly forced smile. Smiling seemed to be a luxury in this time of age.

She wrung the Big Daddy doll nervously and admitted, "I-I had a nightmare."

Nightmares. I shook my head and glanced back at the office: the door was still shut. Carefully, like she was made of glass, I lifted her up into my arms and walked over to her bunk. I sat down on the creaky mattress and balanced her on my knee. "What did you have a nightmare about?"

She sniffed and explained, "It was about monsters. I'm afraid they'll get me!" She buried her face in my shoulder and my arms immediately went around her, shushing her cries.

"There, there. The monsters won't get you," I reassured.

She looked up at me again with tear filled eyes. "How do you know that?"

"Because..." I went through what I could say to an 8-year-old little girl and smiled again. "Because everyone has a hero watching out for them. That hero can be anybody. Could even be Tenenbaum."

"Even you?" Her mood seemed to brighten a little.

My lips twitched at the innocent question, but in the end I nodded. "Even me."

"You'll keep me safe from the monsters?" Again, I nodded. "I'm Ruth."

"Jamie."

"Could you sing to me?"

Giving in to the child's pleading eyes, I rocked her lightly and softly sang in her ear a song by the Pied Pipers (the only thing I could really think of). When I heard her breathy snores, I tucked her in and placed the Big Daddy doll under her arm. I noticed she was still wearing the dress that they give the Little Sisters and I shivered. I couldn't imagine what it would be like to have a slug embedded in your stomach driving you to find ADAM.

I stood up fully when I heard the door open and Tenenbaum step out. "She is asleep," she reported, crossing her arms. "What are you doing?" I shifted my stance and chose silence. Tenenbaum noted how the little girl was sleeping better than before and returned her attention to me. "She would not tell me. What were you doing before you came here?"

"It doesn't matter. We failed and we're still trapped here."

Something sparked in the kraut's eyes. "You went after Ryan." I nodded. Tenenbaum snapped her fingers and said, "You are that spy working for Sinclair."

"And you know that how?" I sized up the slightly taller woman.

"You are not the only one who watches, bitte." She retorted. "Now tell me: How did you know I was here?"

I threw her words back at her, "I watch. A distraught kraut? Kinda hard to miss."

I shouldered past her toward the door to leave. "Where are you going?" she called after me.

I stopped and glanced back at her. "I got Camille to safety. Now I have to take care of a few others."

"Herr Sinclair and the boy."

"The one and only. Make sure Camille doesn't do anything stupid. I can't babysit her all the time." The door slammed shut behind me.

I stuffed my hands in my pockets and glanced up at the glass ceiling. Some year 1960 was turning out to be...

My plan to return home to lick my wounds was cut short when I found my front door broke down. Patrick would have been home... "Patrick!" I called out frantically, rushing into my apartment. It was obvious that there were signs of a struggle from toppled end tables and broken glass. "Patrick!" I wailed searching every crevice, but finding no sign of the boy. I rushed out of my apartment and down the stairs to the front foyer. "Patrick!" I screamed once again, collapsing to my knees in distraught.

I ran a hand through my hair, crying hysterically. Where was he? Was he taken? Did splicers just plunder my home and Patrick was hidden out somewhere? No, he would have stuck around to wait for me until the time I gave. He would have come out when I called. Where is Patrick?

The surface of the ocean suddenly seemed to explode in a fury of hellfire and something massive hit the water. "What in the...?" I gasped taking a few steps back from it. "Is that... a plane?"


	23. Chapter 23

My feet touched down on the tiled floor of the Welcome Center; a place I hadn't been in since Ryan's police opened fire on the citizens trying to escape, hence the abandoned steamer trunks and picket signs still strewn about. I had moved as quick as I could through the vents to beat the bathysphere here so I could get a glimpse of the newcomer to the city... A newcomer in the genetic ballpark of Ryan and his inner circle. I ducked into the shadows as a man took careful, paranoid steps toward the bathysphere port, a gun clenched tightly in his hands. He held a small two-way radio in the palm of his hand, stroking the casing like it was a lifeline.

"Okay..." He said into the radio. "Just one more minute. The sphere... The sphere's coming up now!"

 _"Johnny, security's banging off all over, getta move on!"_ I froze at the familiar voice coming from the radio. No way that was Atlas! I was sure he was dead.

Johnny got closer to the port and failed to notice a dark, slightly disfigured female splicer drop down behind him. I had half the mind to shout 'Watch out!', but I held my tongue knowing there were more in the area. He must have heard her straggled breathing and he spun around watching her inch forward with her hooks poised to attack. "Please, lady... I didn't mean to trespass. Just don't hurt me!" He begged pathetically, throwing the gun to the ground. The bathysphere breached the surface. "Just let me go. You can keep my gun. You can-" The splicer shot forward and slashed Johnny's stomach. Before he could crumple, she was on him again with her hooks buried deep within his belly. Flesh was torn apart as she eviscerated him, letting his body drop into the water the bathysphere came from.

"Is it someone new?" she nearly purred gazing curiously at the bathysphere window.

It was dark, granting neither of us visibility of who was inside. She let out a screech similar to that of a banshee and lept on top of the bathysphere, slashing furiously on the metal to get at the stranger inside. She screamed when one of her hooks broke, remaining permanently imbedded in the outer shell of the bathysphere. She pulled viciously at the wiring inside cutting off the power completely.

With a loud groan, she hopped off the top and landed in a crouch with her back to the window. She glared back at whoever was inside and bounded away to hide. She darted right past me and I pressed tighter into the wall to avoid being spotted.

The heavy door to the bathysphere slowly opened and a young man in his mid-twenties stepped out visibly shaking after that whole ordeal. He was gripping the emergency shortwave radio from inside bathysphere close, speaking into it quietly. His dark brown hair was soaked from his swim in the Atlantic and his even darker brown eyes dripped of fear as they darted around, looking for any place that splicer could have hidden. His jaw was square and surprisingly strong for his thin build, but still held something a baby face like he had yet to really be backhanded by puberty. His shoulders were a little broad for his body.

His cream-colored sweater had seen better days since it was soaked and clung to his thin frame like it was painted on, his dark trousers no better and his shoes were waterlogged.

I moved more into the shadows and he must have noticed my movement since he jumped, his eyes falling where I was hiding. "H-Hey, Atlas? You still there?" He questioned, taking a few steps away from where I was.

_"Still here. We're watchin' ya, don't worry. Just get movin'."_

'We're'? Atlas wasn't alone? There was no way it was Diane since she would have said something by now... Fucking Camille Adler no doubt. Could she just follow simple instructions for once in her life? I shook my head and continued to watch him make his way to the main entrance that led into Rapture. _"We're goin' ta have ta draw her outta hidin', but you're goin' ta have to trust me."_ The man nodded unconsciously at the request and glanced around.

The main foyer had seen the brunt of the riots since this was the only way out of Rapture: a few bodies still littered the ground around the place, along with makeshift weapons and steamer trunks. One pillar was blown completely off the wall from a stray grenade and fell almost completely across the room. The front entrance had been blown to keep people from coming in from people from getting out during the shootout between a few of Atlas' thugs and Ryan's police.

The man inched toward the front entrance, jumping when he heard the female splicer announce, "I'll wrap you in a sheet..."

 _"Just a bit further..."_ Atlas pushed, getting the man to move.

He got close to the fallen pillar and the splicer made her appearance, putting herself between the man and the entrance to Rapture. A bright security camera light flashed on the splicer and the alarm went off. Before she could even react, a security bot flew out of nowhere and opened fire on the unprepared splicer. _"How do you like_ that _, sister?!"_

The splicer bounded away with the security bot hot on her tail and into the air duct she had previously crawled out of. The security bot gave chase and she screamed in pain from the bot hitting its mark. _"Now, would you kindly find a crowbar or something? Bloody splicers sealed Johnny in before they... goddamn splicers."_ It almost sounded like Atlas genuinely cared about Johnny which was a fat lie.

The man glanced around curiously and finally bent down, retrieving a heavy wrench. He gave it a few practice swings before deeming a suitable weapon for now. He walked to the caved in entrance and put his hand on the biggest piece of debris there. He gave it a few testing pushes and noted how easily it gave out. With a grunt, he pushed the debris out of the way and made his way into Rapture, no clue that he had just walked into hell. I followed quickly behind him and nearly gasped when I noticed a couch positioned at the top.

A splicer poked his head out from over the couch and immediately set fire to the couch. With a push, the couch came barreling down the stairs. The man stood frozen like a deer in headlights before reacting finally and pressed himself against the wall, letting the couch roll by.

The stranger finally reached the top of the stairs, looking like he had just met Death. The splicer who pushed the couch came charging at him, screaming about Jesus. The man desperately swung the wrench into the splicer's skull, whimpering and shouting the whole time, but he was successful. The splicer crumpled to the floor and Jack stood over it breathing heavily. " _Way to go, Jack!_ "

Jack continued up the staircase to one of those Plasmid Stations. Sitting in the opening was the familiar bottle of the Electrobolt plasmid, waiting for the picking. " _That there is a plasmid_ ," Atlas explained over the radio. " _You're gonna need that if you're going to survive down here. All you have to do is inject it._ "

"I-Inject it?" Jack fumbled with the bottle and the needle, not exactly sterilized, but hopefully he doesn't catch anything.

He gulped and filled the needle with the plasmid, holding it like it was fragile. In a swift moment, he stabbed it into his wrist and pushed the plunger down. The reaction was instantaneous: convulsions, static discharge, unbearable pain as the plasmid worked its way into his system. " _Steady now! Your genetic code is being rewritten. Just hold on and everything will be_ fine!"Atlas tried to reassure, but it did little. He stumbled around like a drunk before slipped and taking a nose dive over the railing. I flinched when he slammed into the ground unconscious.

I waited patiently until a couple of splicers wandered into the area and became very interested in Jack's prone person. "This little fish looks like he just had his cherry POPPED... wonder if he's still got some ADAM on him?" There was a loud groan reminiscent of none other than the Big Daddy.

The second splicer got nervous. "You hear that? Let's bug!" He rushed off toward the exit.

"Weak! You're a weak chopper!"

"This little fish ain't work toeing it with no Big Daddy!"

"Yellow! Always have been!" The splicer knelt down beside Jack again. "You'll be no better off with the metal daddy, little fish. See you floating in the briney!" The splicer ran off to join his partner.

Finally the Big Daddy lumbered into the area (a Bouncer) and the Little Sister crawled off his back. "Look, Mr. Bubbles, it's an angel!" She cheered, walking over to Jack. "I can see light coming from his belly..." She paused and backed up, "Wait a minute, he's still breathing. It's alright. I know he'll be an angel soon."

With that she skipped off, the Big Daddy following obediently behind. That kid was seriously lucky.

Slowly, he crawled to his feet, grimacing no doubt from the feeling of his nerves being electrocuted. " _You alright, boyo? First time plasmid's a real kick from a mule. But... there's nothing like a fistful of lightning, now, is there?_ " Jack smiled and let out a bolt of electricity into the door panel that had been busted, which opened the door.

I glanced back down and said, "Maybe I'll see you around, Jack. Welcome to Rapture: the world's fastest growing pile of junk." I crawled inside the vent where I laid on my back and stared at the metal walls. Jack was in for pure hell ahead of him, but he could use the bathyspheres... He could be mine and Sinclair's ticket out of here... and Patrick if I could find him.

I would have to keep a close eye on Jack and make sure he stays alive wherever Atlas leads that poor man, and if Atlas ends up getting Jack killed, then Atlas was in for a reckoning.

I flipped to my stomach and continued crawling to Sinclair's apartment where he was hiding out in until I came to move us. I fell through the vent that dropped right on top of Sinclair's bed and startled the man sitting at his vanity with a cigarette clamped between his teeth. There was quite a pile of spent cigarette butts scattered all over the vanity like he had been on a smoking binge since I had left him to go help Camille and he had another cigarette tucked behind his ear.

"Jamie!" He exclaimed standing up quickly. He paused when he noticed my hair, "When did you snip your hair, darlin'?" His hand reached out and stroked the short locks a little cautiously like my hair was going to fall off, but also with love.

"Yesterday morning. Sorry I was gone so long." He cupped my face and kissed me hard on the mouth.

"Just don't do it again. I was worried," He laughed.

I looked into his still bright emerald eyes, but noted how the bags under his eyes had gotten significantly darker from the lack of proper sleep in weeks. I almost let a wave of sadness run over me at how tired Sinclair must have been, but pushed it aside. We had more pressing matters to deal with. "We have to move," I said, picking up the bag I had dropped off prior. "I've found a place we can hide out, but its going to be a little bit of a nightmare to get there. Other than that, it's the most secure place I could find."

"And where is that?" Sinclair asked moving to the suitcase sitting on his bed. He closed the lid and latched it shut.

"Ryan Amusements..."

Sinclair looked faint. "Wait... Where's Patrick?" He questioned, looking up into the vent to see if the boy was still up there.

I averted his gaze. "I-I don't know. I've been trying to find him."

Sinclair stopped asking. "You'll find him. I know it."

It nearly 3 hours to pick our way through maintenance shafts and the final stretch of vents. Sinclair complained about the vents almost the whole time, asking how I did this every day. I just smiled at his whines saying that maybe he should have laid off the creme cakes. He retorted by pinching my butt making me jump and hit my head on the top of the vent. He was lucky I loved him.

We finally touched down in Ryan Amusements and made our way to the control/maintenance office sitting off to the side of the tram station. No splicer came in here since the trams had long since been shut down, cutting off access to anywhere in the city. The only way out was through the vents, but only the crawlers knew the way. I dared not see what the state of Ryan Amusements since there were a great deal of people trapped inside including an entire class of children being cared for by the sane adults. The kids... didn't make it despite the adults' best efforts. It was the adults who died first and then the splicers picked off a few of the kids. The rest starved to death.

I shook my head of the thought of those kids and hacked the door lock. The maintenance room still had power since it ran on its own generator since the amusement park took up enough power. There was a mattress with sheets and a blanket stuffed in the corner of the room from where that old grizzled sheepdog used to sleep on late nights when it took children forever to get out of the park and a suitcase of clothes sitting on the table close to the door. There was no sign of Davis Pittman, but I could have cared less.

Sinclair glanced around and nodded. "This'll do for now," He stated setting his suitcase down.

He glanced over at the monitors that showed different images from cameras all over the park. He paused at one where a little boy and girl were running from a splicer. He was gripping the little girl's hand and pulled her along while she was crying hysterically. Sinclair opened his mouth like he was going to say something, but I stopped him by saying, "There's nothing we can do."

The children were violently struck down by the splicer giving chase making him flinch. My eyebrows knitted together; Sinclair had always been kept away from the amount of death in the city, including that of the child population and never had to see what exactly was happening to several of the children. I almost felt guilty for keeping this all a secret, but what could I do?

"I have to keep trying to find Patrick."

Sinclair nodded. "Do what you have to do, darlin'. Bring him back."

I left shortly after.

* * *

Desperation was a very mild term to how I was feeling. Every meeting spot Patrick and I had arranged should we get separated was empty. There wasn't even a sign that he slept in the room. Why couldn't I find Patrick? Where did he go?

Port Neptune smelled like dead fish - never changed. The smugglers tunnels were my destination. I didn't know why I thought I could find Patrick here, but I was running out of places to look. I heard a Securis door slide open from the other side of the room and I slipped into the shadows.

I quirked an eyebrow when I noticed Jack step into the room. The poor man had seen better days for sure from the amount of injuries he possessed, hastily bandaged up by inexperienced hands. I almost didn't catch the soft glow his hands were emitting meaning that he had spliced up to fight off the splicers. Fight fire with fire, almost a good decision except that if Jack didn't get out soon he'd succumb to ADAM addiction. Atlas was jawing off about his... family? " _Patrick's in the sub ahead. Hurry!_ "

"Patrick?" I questioned. That son of a bitch: he had taken Patrick, but for what? What reason did he have to take Patrick?

It became a race to the sub, but as I had reached the Securis door that lead to the walkways, the door locked and it got dark. I wandered back to see what had happened and found Jack standing at a panel that released the door controls by the submarine bay. I had to hold my breath to keep from panicking when I looked at the door to the sub. Patrick was inside, banging on the glass and shouting... something I couldn't hear. The radio on Jack's hip crackled to life. " _You blow a fuse up there? Can't see a damn t'ing in that booth. Gimme a tick, and I'll get you out of there._ _Hang on, Patrick! I'll get you out of there!_ " Atlas called out walking toward the control panel that operated the lift system of the submarine. There was a woman standing near the gate and I immediately recognized her as Camille.

This time, Andrew Ryan came over Jack's radio, " _So dark in there... if only your friend could look up and see you... maybe you could warn him... if only you could do something... anything... except just stand there and watch him die..._ " Splicers started to crawl out of the ceiling, all over the rigging and cables until a large explosion went off.

"Oh god no!" I exclaimed, rushing for the door that was previously locked before. I swept up a pipe and crushed in the skull of splicer who came rushing to try and kill Jack, not realizing I was there. "Get out of my way!"

"Who are you?" Jack shouted, having caught up with me.

"Not now! I have to get to Patrick!"

"Atlas' son?"

I turned around and sneered. "He's _not_ Atlas' son! He's mine! If anythin' happens to that boy, Atlas is a dead man!" My switchblade came out and stabbed up into the chin of a thuggish splicer. The final leg of the walkways led us right to the sub and by then I was nearly sprinting. "Patrick!" Splicers dropped down in front of the sub... and the largest explosion ripped the sub to pieces. The shock paralyzed my legs taking away the strength to even stand. I didn't even feel my knees hitting the concrete, watching the burning wreckage. "Patrick..." I started to sob, leaning forward until my forehead touched the concrete.

I jumped when Jack placed his hand on my shoulder. " _You ooze in like an assassin_ ," Ryan came over the radio again. " _and then you try to sneak out like a thief. You're no CIA spook. Who are you? Why have you come here? There's two ways to deal with a mystery... uncover it or eliminate it._ "

I scrambled to my feet and rushed in to _maybe_ find Patrick's body. There was no way he survived the explosion... Ignoring the scorching metal, I lifted several pieces of debris up, hoping to find Patrick underneath perhaps. Jack moved on, following Atlas' fake cries over the radio. Atlas could stop the charade since Jack knew full well that Patrick wasn't his son. My attention finally turned to the water where I noticed a pale, bloody back poking out of the water.

It sunk under the water and I dove after it. I gathered the body of Patrick into my arms and kicked for the surface. I dragged his body out of the water and laid him out on the metal walkway trying not to break out sobbing again. He was horribly burnt, most of his hair burnt off leaving a charred scalp. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," I whispered, petting what hair he had left. I gathered him up in my arms and held him, rocking him gently. He was still warm for now and I pressed my fingers to his pulse point.

There was nothing. He was gone.

I lifted him up and walked carefully for Arcadia where the smuggler's tunnel ran out. His dead weight made it difficult to carry him, but I persisted. I laid him down on the soft grass of the Rolling Hills Cemetery. I spent the next hour digging a grave for my son: I would not leave him to rot where splicers could damage his body. He deserved more than that.

I gently laid him in the deep hole I dug, folding his hands over his chest. I sat on the edge of the grave finding that I was completely broken: my emotions felt like they ceased to exist leaving me empty with no purpose. Slowly, I filled the grave, burying my adoptive son forever.

Gas flooded the area, killing anything green. "Well, shit..." I muttered, rushing out of the area so the gas wouldn't destroy my lungs anymore than they already were.

* * *

Fontaine's office in Fontaine Futuristics was where I went. As much as I wanted to hunt down Atlas and skin the bastard alive, there was something off about the whole thing. I had a curiosity that was itching at the back of my skull since I had first seen the inside of the room and that was the random boar hanging he had hanging in his office. It seemed out of place for a man like Fontaine whose tastes were more refined than to have an ugly boar hanging on his wall. I thoroughly blamed Camille for my thoughts on where Fontaine possibly could be since I had read her message to Bill.

As much as I knew that Fontaine was a paranoid bastard, almost as bad as Ryan, I knew he had to have some sort of secret compartment to hide his valuables.

Fontaine's office was deserted when I arrived, not even a splicer was in view. Most had departed under the orders of Ryan to hunt down Jack and gut the poor man. I was also surprised to find that not much damage had really been done to the place since the splicers had ransacked everything else.

I made my way quietly over to that boar head that had not been ripped from the wall even though all other photos had been ripped down (aside from the frieze that oddly looked like Fontaine's family that was mounted to the wall). I examined the boar over before placing my hands on the tusks and giving them a twist much like a steering wheel. I jumped when the boar's head moved along with my twist and gave an audible click.

The wall to my right slid open and I gaped at the shelves of alcohol imported from the surface and cases of Fontaine's favorite cigars and cigarettes (a few packs I took for Sinclair). An audio diary caught my eye, a thin layer of dust coating the Accu-Vox's plastic casing. I cocked my head to the side and took the recording off the shelf holding it in my hands. I had thought that Fontaine would have burned all the audio tapes of himself before Sullivan's boys came in to tear the place apart. I shook my head and pressed play. The Accu-Vox clicked on and Fontaine's heavy bronx accent poured out through the scratchy speakers, _"Every time Ryan turns up the heat, I know I'm a little bit closer to beatin' him at his own game. But now the game's changin': Ryan's boys are comin' in heavy lookin' to knock down_ my _door and take what's_ mine. _Like this is the first time I had to dodge a bullet._ " Fontaine's tone was almost mocking at Ryan's plans to take out Fontaine once and for all. Fontaine _knew_ that Ryan was coming and yet, he still let himself get killed. " _They're comin' to my house expectin' a show, but they're going to get a disappearin' act. Say goodbye to Fontaine,_ " There was a pause on the recording and the sound of a shotgun being locked and loaded. _"And hello to Atlas."_ I dropped the recorder suddenly, the Accu-Vox crashing against the ground with a loud bang.

Camille's ramblings that Fontaine was still alive... were right?! My fingers carded roughly through my cropped hair, gripping the strands painfully tight. I had aided _fucking Frank Fontaine_ in his attempt to take down Ryan on several occasions. _Fucking Camille Adler_ had no idea she was in the presence of the conman that she was infatuated with, truly believing him to be an Irishman when in reality, he was just using his army of splicers and Camille to take down Ryan and take control of Rapture. That son of bitch murdered Patrick, using him to trick Jack in sympathizing with him so he'd blindly help him.

I scrambled to get out of the conman's office so I could find Jack and stop him from killing Ryan. I'm not sure what Fontaine had planned for Jack, but knowing him: Jack would not live long to figure out he's been betrayed.

Jack had long since left Fort Frolic, Cohen found standing in front of a sculpture made from the bodies of splicers, plaster and paint with pictures of his disciples dead in each picture. They were lucky now since they didn't have to suffer under Sander Cohen anymore. And since Jack was no longer in Fort Frolic, there was only one place that he was now if Fontaine was sending Jack as an assassin to kill Ryan: Hephaestus.

The place was the same since I had left it with bullets chasing me out the door. The revolver was in my grip in an instant when I dropped down into the workshops, carefully making my way to the office of Andrew Ryan in hopes that I could stop Jack from giving control of Rapture over to Frank Fontaine. The reel with Fontaine's admission to being Atlas was tucked away in my trousers to prove it should anyone question.

I pressed my back against the side of a vending machine and peered around the corner at a splicer wandering around, his own revolver poised to shot anything that moved much like my own. Taking a breath, I shot around the corner and planted a bullet in his skull, dropping him instantly before he could alert others to my presence.

A loud crash erupted around the area followed by a horrible screeching noise that made me cover my ears from the rattling it gave my eardrums. One of the Harmonic Cores went offline and one of the magma pipes fell off the side of the core completely. An EMP bomb, not bad. No doubt started by Kyburz who had never got the chance to finish it since he was violently killed by Pablo Navarro for money. Kyburz originally had doubts about it since if the bomb worked, it would trip the circuit breaker to Ryan's gate in theory. Otherwise, it would have blown up half of Rapture. Nothing ventured... "Found Jack," I muttered once the noise died down.

The security systems rang out forcing me to get out of sight of the bots as they flew past.

"RUN!" I heard a female shout and darting past me came Camille first followed by Jack, who grabbed her hand so he wouldn't lose her. Jack quickly took the lead being faster than the woman and narrowly avoided the bullets the security bots fired at them. I came out from cover and shot down two of them to ease up the firepower against the two. I ran to catch up to the two and ultimately stop Jack, but I underestimated how fast someone can run when they're terrified. _I can run faster scared than you can angry_.

I arrived in the atrium with Ryan's 'trophies' pinned up on the walls and I cursed loudly: Ryan's door was open meaning the bomb had indeed worked, but Camille and Jack were still nowhere in sight. I cursed again and started to run again, my legs starting to ache from the exertion I was putting myself through.

My balance was nearly thrown completely off when the whole area seemed to shake violently. _"Self-destruct mode activated. Please evacuate the city,"_ An automated voice chimed off, and I groaned.

I continued into the main foyer of Ryan's office watching Camille and Jack disappear into a vent, taking a page out of my book. I ran up the stairs and crawled into the vent behind them only to come out into a sort of storage room with a cork-board mounted to the wall with a table in front of it. Coating the wall around the cork-board, the table and a few strewn across the floor were notes, theories and evidence of something in Ryan's handwriting. Pictures were pinned in the middle each connected by red string and I quickly recognized the people in the pictures. In the top right was a portrait of Andrew Ryan himself with a string connecting himself to a picture of Jasmine Jolene. Jasmine's picture then connected to a picture of Fontaine a little lower on the cork-board. Red string continued to connect Fontaine to Dr. Suchong and Tenenbaum. And finally at the center of it all was a picture of none other than Jack.

Spray painted across the cork-board in red were the words "WOULD YOU KINDLY". I had to find Jack...

I darted into the next room in time to see Andrew Ryan pacing the area with a golf club in hand. Camille was tied to a chair and Jack moved to swing a fist at Ryan for hurting the woman, but Ryan quickly asked, "Stop, would you kindly?" Jack's swing stopped immediately. "Would you kindly: A powerful phrase - a familiar phrase?" The younger man looked to be internally fighting with himself, remembering how many times Atlas had used the phrase. "Sit, would you kindly?"

Jack promptly planted his butt on the floor. The golf club hooked under his chin and Ryan commanded, "Stand, would you kindly." Jack obeyed blindly. "Run!" Again, Jack obeyed darting across the room. "Stop! Turn." Ryan makes his way over to where Jack stood and I had the revolver leveled with Ryan's head ready to shoot the man should any harm come to Jack. Instead of striking Jack dead with the golf club, he handed the club to the frozen man. "A man chooses. A slave obeys. Kill!" He ordered and Jack swung the golf club against Ryan's head, sending him to the floor.

Ryan slammed into the floor, slowly getting to his knees again. "A slave _obeys_ ," He repeated, grabbing Jack's pants leg. Jack swung again emitting yet another sickening crunch of Ryan's skull and this time, it took everything Ryan had to get himself into a kneeling position. "OBEY!" Jack swung one last time, this time the club imbedded itself in Ryan's skull, breaking off from the handle.

Ryan slumped showing that he was dead. Jack's breath was heavy with the realization that everything he knew was a complete lie. "Jack?" I questioned, stepping closer.

He spun to face me with the broken golf club pointed as a weapon. "Did you know?! Did you know what I was?!" He shouted desperately, his eyes hoping that I didn't know at all.

And honestly, I didn't. I didn't even know that this was Andrew Ryan's son. "I don't."

Jack fell to his knees and cried, the broken rod of the golf club clanging pitifully against the floor. The ground continued to shake from the self-destruct sequence, but I ignored it and made my way to Camille's unconscious form. From the looks of her head injury, her concussion was a lot worse now and she would be waking up with a headache that not even aspirin could get rid of without overdosing. Jack's radio chimed to life, startling the broken man from his tears. _"Hurry now,"_ Atlas' voice came over the radio. _"Grab Ryan's genetic key! Now would you kindly put it in that goddamn machine?!"_ Jack stood obediently and fished the genetic key from Ryan's pocket.

"Jack! Jack stop!" I ordered chasing after him. "Atlas is not who he says he is!" Jack ignored me, the effects of the trigger phrase still in effect. "Jack!" He inserted the key into the machine and ultimately shut off the self-destruct sequence. I watched the screen at the top flash from Ryan Industries to Fontaine Futuristics. "No..."

 _Atlas_ , or rather: Fontaine, laughed over the radio and leered, _"Nice work, boyo!"_ He laughed deeper, his voice becoming more malevolent than that of the Irish revolutionary. _"It's time to end this little masquerade. There ain't no Atlas, kid. Never was. Fellow in my line a work takes on a variety of aliases. Hell, once I was even a Chinaman for six months. But, you've been a sport, so I guess I owe you a little honesty. The name's Frank Fontaine. I got to say, I had a lot of business partners in my life, but you – course, the fact that you were genetically conditioned to bark like a cocker spaniel when I said, "_ Would you kindly," _might have had something to do with it, but still. Now, as soon as that machine finishes processing the genetic key you just fished off Ryan, I'm going to run Rapture – tits to toes. You been a pal, but you know what they say: never mix business with friendship. Thanks for everything, kid. Don't forget to say, "Hi," to Ryan for me."_

Security blared off, and I cursed, "Shit! We gotta go!" I slashed the ropes securing Camille and helping her out of the chair. I glanced up at the camera and knew that Sinclair was watching this all happen and I could only hope that he didn't watch me die in this place.

"This way!" A Little Sister shouted, directing us toward a nearby vent that I had used to escape the first time. Jack dove in first avoiding the flurry of bullets that the security bots were firing at him.

I pushed Camille in and followed close behind, narrowly avoiding the spray of bullets directed at me, just in time to see Jack take a nose dive down a dead fall that I didn't have time to warn him about. "Jack!" I shouted down to him, hearing him groan in response. "Come on! Get up!" I called down to him.


	24. Chapter 24

To be back in Tenenbaum's little hideaway brought back memories since I had been here literally only a few days prior. Only difference was that the number of former Little Sisters had increased and all it took was for me to glance over at Jack to realize that Tenenbaum had given the man the cure for the Little Sisters and he had the heart to save them instead of taking all the ADAM for himself. There was more to Jack than meets the eye.

I hissed when Tenenbaum pressed a disinfectant soaked cloth to my bleeding forehead. "Easy, doc," I nearly growled, but caught myself when I noticed a few pairs of eyes on me.

"Bitte, you are covered in scars from lack of treatment. I can at least prevent this one," She scolded, giving the cut a few more dabs. She deemed it good enough and moved back to Jack who was still unconscious from the deadfall. For someone as small as him, he was heavy and I'm surprised I even made it to Tenenbaum much less out of the vents.

My eyes moved from Jack and Tenenbaum to Camille who sat in the corner of the room with her face buried in her arms, weeping softly into her tattered sleeves. She looked absolutely miserable; her golden hair had dulled significantly from the amount of stress she was under and being malnourished from only eating creme cakes and chips. Her once near flawless skin was littered with bruises and scars from the amount of abuse she endured from splicers and security bots trying to kill her. And that didn't even account for the emotional trauma she was suffering for someone who had originally enjoyed a life of high class and security unlike me who had grown up in chaos. It would come back to bite her in the ass in the near future, but for now, she was adapting to it. For now, Camille Adler was the strongest woman I had the pleasure of meeting and calling my friend.

I sighed and stood up, moving to sit next to the distraught female, wrapping my arms around my knees. "Go ahead: say it!" She whimpered, not bothering to look since she knew automatically that it was me.

"Say what?" I questioned.

" _I told you so_."

"You already told yourself that." I gave her a weak smile to comfort her, but it failed it's intended purpose.

I stiffened up when she scooted closer and laid her head on my shoulder, looking for a friend now instead of her arms for comfort. "You were right. My...  _infatuation_ ," She spat the word out like it was poison, "with Fontaine would get me killed."

"But you're not dead," I pointed out, staring straight ahead to avoid looking her in the eye. There was a little group of girls sitting in a circle coloring on the floor of the sun and flowers, crayon depictions of their Big Daddies and surprisingly a picture of what I could guess was myself and Camille from the random brunette and blonde standing side by side, each with short hair to indicate that it was us. "Maybe it was that infatuation that kept you alive because Fontaine knew about it."

"Perhaps."

"Didn't save Patrick though..." I swallowed hard.

She removed her head from my shoulder and looked me in the eye. "I'm sorry. I didn't know-"

"Save it. I know he wouldn't have told you. You're too kind to go through with killing Patrick even if you didn't know him. He was still a kid, and you would have tried to save him. I'll feel better after Fontaine dies - for good this time."

She rested her chin on her arms again. "So what do we do now?"

I jerked my chin at Jack and said, "We help him."

There was a long period of silence between us, not exactly unpleasant, but neither of us knew what else to say at that point. Then, Camille's gaze was on me again. "You never did tell me who you came down here with."

I was confused for a moment. "What?"

"You mentioned something about a relative."

"Of  _all_  the things you could ask me: you ask about my relatives?" She shrugged, but still looked like she expected an answer. I sighed and answered, "I came here with my mother. Dusky Donovan was her name."

"Your last name's Donovan? The file..."

"Was mine. I'm not entirely sure how Steinman came across it, but it's in my possession now so that's all that matters. And Jack saw to Steinman's timely demise."

"What happened to your mother? You said 'was'."

I looked at the ground almost in shame of what my mother was. "She... She's dead. She overdosed on drugs."

"So now you really are Little Orphan Annie, aren't you?" Camille joked lightly, giving me a smile.

"I suppose, except I'm not a curly haired redhead and I was twenty-five when she died. I'm twenty-six. I don't exactly qualify as a true orphan anymore," I laughed a little as the lightened mood.

Camille giggled as well and admitted, "I never could get used to you smiling at all." She nudged my side and smiled. "You normally had this look like you wanted to murder everyone in the room or you were looking like there was something stuck to the bottom of your shoe."

"The Drop didn't help. It was actually where I found Patrick. He was eight and tried to pickpocket me. He would have succeeded if it wasn't  _me_  he tried to steal a wallet from."

Jack gave a groan and Camille and I lept to our feet, both of us relieved that he had finally awoken. His hand flew to his head to try and quell the headache he no doubt had, but smiled when he noticed us standing not to far from him. "Welcome back, child," Tenenbaum called out from her little office, a cigarette perched between her fingers. "Welcome to the city where you were born."

"How...?" He glanced around at the makeshift orphanage Tenenbaum had set up for her 'little ones'.

"You are angry at Fontaine, yes?" Tenenbaum continued. "Now you know the truth. You are his tool, brought back to Rapture to save him. You have saved many of my Little Ones. I owe you a debt."

Jack slowly got to his feet, trying to stop the room from spinning. I walk over and place my hand on his back to steady him. "You okay?" I questioned, noting how dilated his pupils were. He nodded once and gave a crooked smile.

Tenenbaum blew out a stream of smoke and explained, "While you sleep, I undo some of Fontaine's mental conditioning. His control is no longer complete, but he can still pull some very unpleasant strings. We made your mind with many locks and keys. Fontaine has most of those keys, but not all. Dr. Suchong designed your mind, taught Fontaine to control you. You might find answers in Suchong's flat in Mercury Suites. Miss Hawkeye knows where to go, yes?"

I narrowed my eyes, but nodded altogether. It was true that Tenenbaum knew exactly who I was which made me wonder how she knew, but that was a question for another time. "Hero!" I jumped at the call and was caught severely off guard when a small blur slammed into the side of my leg, latching on with a grip I had no idea a child could possess.

"Ruth?" I questioned glancing down at the child and she looked up with a big grin on her face.

She detached herself from my leg to allow me to kneel to her height before to reattached herself around my neck. "You came back!" She cheered, causing my ear to ring from her shout.

"Yes, yes I did. But now I have to go again," I reminded her, gently detaching her arms from my neck. I held her out at an arms length. "Do you understand? I have to help this man." I pointed to Jack for a moment. "Can you show us the way out?"

"Yeah! Follow me! Follow me, mister!" She smiled brightly at Jack and took my hand in hers, pulling me in the direction to go. She led us up a separate set of stairs away from our original entrance, taking us toward the entrance to the maintenance tunnel below Olympus Heights of all places. The Securis door unlocked and slid open, and we glanced back at the numerous little girls that had followed us up the stairs.

I nodded to them and gave Jack's shoulder a light push to exit, Camille right behind me. "So you know where to go?"

"Of course. When don't I?" I smirked taking the lead. The flood door was shut and I groaned, noting how the valve was missing to open the bloody door. "Okay. Scatter. Try and find a red valve."

Camille and Jack obeyed searching the area for it while I stood and waited, listening for anything on the other side that would prove to be a threat. Everyone stopped moving when we heard Jack's radio crackle.  _"And now you've hooked up with Tenenbaum, huh, kid? She's a regular Mother Goose. All right, fun's fun, kid, but now, go get stepped on by a Big Daddy,_ would you kindly _?"_

"Found it!" Camille called out, raising it above her head in a small victory.

She rushed over and handed me the valve, which I promptly replaced it in its original spot. "Jack, give me a hand?" I questioned, slowly starting to turn the valve. With his help, the door had slid open enough for us to slide under. I didn't want to give any splicers a clue about where Tenenbaum was hiding.

We walked slowly up the walkway into Olympus Heights, noting how we were near the Mercury Suites.  _"Huh? I said: Would you kindly go get stepped on by a Big Daddy?"_  Jack grinned when he didn't move to obey the command. Tenenbaum really did it.  _"Ah, seems like Mother Goose has been playing around in your egg salad. If you won't dance to_ that _tune, I got others... Code Yellow."_

Jack let out a yell and his hand flew to his chest. He would have taken a nose dive right into the pavement, if Camille and I didn't grab a hold of his arms. "Jack?!" Camille exclaimed, her hand pressing against the one on his chest.

"Hey, say something?" I also exclaimed.

 _"I just told your brain to tell your heart to stop beating. Not right off the bat, mind you. The heart's a stubborn muscle, but not_ that _stubborn,_ " Fontaine explained with a dark chuckle making me glare at the radio.

Jack finally got his breathing under control along with the pain his chest was in and straightened up as best as he could. "I'm fine. I'm okay," He reassured, his voice heavy from the pain.

 _"Once you are free of Fontaine's control, then you can have your revenge, and we can keep my Little ones out of his filthy hands,"_  It was Tenenbaum this time.

"We gotta double time it."

"Hawkeye, he's in pain," Camille in order to help Jack.

I shook my head. "We have to hurry. We have no idea how many times Jack's heart can take it. He could die the next time. Jack, are you up for it?"

He nodded and gave Camille a reassuring smile. "I can do it."

_"That's it, kid. You're busto. My new friends will catch up with you soon. Ah, kid, I hope they make it quick."_

"Then let's move it!" I ordered taking off in a run into the Mercury Suites.

* * *

Jack gave another yell as Fontaine once again came over the radio and said,  _"Code Yellow."_

This time it brought him to his knees as he coughed violently, dropping his crossbow. "Jack!" I exclaimed, kneeling next to him. Gritting my teeth at my newfound level of hatred for Fontaine, I grabbed Jack's arm and hauled him to his feet, pulling his arm over my shoulders. "Camille, keep an eye out," I ordered, securing a hand on Jack's waist, the other curling around the handle of his crossbow. He'd need whatever Suchong had and  _fast_ ; we had to find this Lot 192 Suchong spoke of in an audio diary: the antidote to the mental conditioning dealt with Jack. Which also meant that the trip to Suchong's apartment was a complete waste of time other than to know that there was a leak in the joint since we were wading around in water about ankle deep.

_"I'm gonna miss this place. Rapture was a candy store for guys like me, guys who though they knew it all, dames who thought they'd seen it all. Give me a smart mark over a dumb one every time."_

Fontaine had made our lives hell just getting to Fontaine's penthouse, and we weren't even halfway there. Figured out Anna Culpepper was for sure dead; drowned in her bathtub by none other than Sullivan. Ran into Cohen who Jack had spared earlier and blew his as up to Kingdom Come

Going to Tenenbaum's apartment was a bust since Fontaine had his splicers tear the place apart, taking her sample of the Lot 192 with them and to Fontaine's penthouse, which was where Camille would come into play once we reached the devil's house. With his control over Rapture, it came complete with the control of the pheromone and having each splicer under its influence bend to his whim. His whim right now was our blood on the hands of the splicers sent to send us to our maker. We were putting up a decent fight, but we were running out of ammo and time.

Jack groaned as his chest gave him a throb, a throb that I almost could feel. "Hang on, Jack," I muttered, supporting his weight as best as I could, but I was a bit shorter than he was.

Camille wandered a little ahead, her shotgun primed to blow anyone who got in the way straight to hell where they belonged. "This way," She said, pointing to the stairs we had to go down again.

"Lead the way," I said, using the crossbow to motion for her to go first.

"How come..." Jack gulped down the saliva that had built up in his mouth. "How come... neither of you are like  _them_?" He questioned, his chin jerking toward the body of a splicer he had stuck a bolt in earlier on our ascent up the stairs. "What did you do to avoid turning into them?"

Camille faltered for only a moment before continuing on and not saying a word. I didn't say a word either. Jack didn't need to know our former lives as Fontaine's secretary and Sinclair's spy (as much as the term was asinine). All he needed to focus on was getting out alive and finding that damn cure. "And you don't answer. Typical." He sounded defeated.

"Jack, there's some things that you're better off not knowing," Camille said glancing back at him with a look that said 'I'm sorry'. "Just know that we're here to help and we're thankfully sane."

"ADAM changed everything about this place," I explained as we descended the next flight of stairs, making our way to the bottom floor and to the elevator that would take us to Fontaine's penthouse. I picked my words carefully as not to reveal  _exactly_  what Camille and I used to do for a living. "It improved every aspect of a person, except his character. It drove people mad if they didn't get a dose once they were addicted. They killed anyone who might have even a drop. Personally, I like my mind the way it is, Jack. I'm not too keen on poisoning it."

Jack nodded and removed his arm from my shoulders. "I can walk again."

"Just be careful, kid," I advised.

He let me keep the crossbow and opted to handle his machine gun. The final set of stairs brought us right to the elevator that would bring us up to Fontaine's penthouse and ultimately to the Lot 192 that we needed. "After you, Miss Adler," I gave a mock bow, directing her to the DNA scan and door code.

She shook her head and shouldered her shotgun. "Hopefully this thing still works," She muttered, putting her finger into the genetic lock. She didn't even wince when the needle pricked her finger and analyzed her DNA. The keypad gave a beep and the elevator door slid open. There was only enough room for two, so Camille went up first alone with her shotgun to clear the way a bit for me and Jack.

"Hawkeye?" Jack questioned.

"Yeah?"

"What's going to happen to me? The life I thought I had turns out to be a lie and all I've really been doing is sleep-walking through life. I don't even remember what I did on the surface anymore. I asked Miss Adler but she wouldn't give me an answer."

I sighed and ran a hand through my cropped dark hair, the bangs falling into my eyes. "I don't know. I remember little about the surface. Only an apple orchard. We'll both have to see what happens, aye?"

The elevator arrived again, and we both squeezed inside, the crossbow poking uncomfortably at my leg and Jack's stomach. The elevator seemed to move like a dying slug upward as we glanced around at the rickety little frame of the elevator that had been in the blast radius of a few grenades from splicers and Big Daddies alike. The elevator finally made it to our destination, and the glass door slid open, allowing me and Jack to slide out.

I once again realized I made a mistake at leaving Camille unattended for longer than 5 minutes: she jumped over a fallen pillar with a pack of splicers hot on her heels. Jack sprung into action, spraying bullets in the splicers' direction and putting himself between Cam and the mob. I tossed a box of solid slug rounds at Camille - then crouching, aiming deliberately for the spider splicer of the group since he would be the most troublesome.

He was still wearing a name tag from working in the Farmers Market which read Gregory. "Sorry about this, Gregory," I muttered, taking aim. "No, I'm not." With a pull of the trigger, the crossbow bolt shot across the area and embedded right in the eye of the spider splicer, killing him instantly.

Quickly, another bolt was placed in the slot, the wire pulled back and locked. Camille blasted her shotgun desperately into the bodies of a few that came too close for comfort. Jack gunned down anyone who got in his way, setting people on fire, electrocuting them and bashing in their skulls with a swift swing of the wrench he still carried from the very beginning. A splicer tried to sneak up on Camille, but was met with a bolt to the skull. She nodded appreciatively at me before a look of horror spread across her features at something behind me. I spun around and was met with the ugly mug of yet another splicer, grinning like he just won the lottery. "Jamie!" Camille shouted followed by a few shotgun blasts, but I paid no mind.

The crossbow flew from my hands when my back hit the ground and my hand landed on the throat of the splicer over me, holding them back as best as I could. "Li'l fish wants ta play!" He laugh maniacally. He lifted his lower body up enough for me to take my chance and drive my knee into his groin hard.

He gave a screech and flew off, clutching his family jewels like his life depended on it. I pulled my switch blade from my pocket and flipped up to my feet. "You little bitch!" the splicer growled, glaring at me. I just smirked and flipped the blade around in my hand so I was gripping the blade instead of the handle and threw it.

The blade sunk into his throat and he went down, causing me to smirk. I glanced around seeing that Camille and Jack had dispatched the remaining splicers or the remaining splicers had taken off into the vents to escape the slaughter. I scooped up the crossbow again and removed my knife from the splicer's throat, wiping the blood on my trousers. "Well, that was fun," I commented, moving toward the door on the opposite end of the room. Camille and Jack heaved sighs and followed close behind, their guns trained on the room around them for any sign of movement.

I glanced around the foyer in an awed state. Despite the fact that I did  _not_  like Fontaine, he lived like I've always dreamed. The foyer was large and spacious. the stairs in front of us split off to two different ends of the room and the walls were lined with bookshelves filled with books that Fontaine had probably never read (or did. I didn't know him personally to know if he read books). I wandered over to one and pulled off a book written by Lewis Carroll. "Alice in Wonderland? Fontaine actually reads this?" I asked Camille, opening the book. The spine was cracked meaning  _someone_  had read it and that  _someone_  must have been Fontaine.

"I never saw him read anything other than reports and bills. Come on. We gotta find that Lot 192," Camille explained, motioning toward the stairs with her shotgun. I nodded and replaced the book in its proper place and followed Camille up the stairs.

"And he has a polar bear," Jack commented, eyeing up the large, white-furred beast standing on it's hind legs. I shook my head at the stuffed beast and followed Camille to the left side of the staircase, entering what looked like Fontaine's private study. On the table behind his desk was a bottle labeled Lot 192 and we all smiled at the bottle.

"Lot 192. We actually found it!" Camille said, walking up to the table and swiping the bottle off the surface. It was a sickly yellow color and seemed to glow inside the bottle making us glance nervously back at Jack. "Bottoms up." She handed him the bottle and he glanced the bottle over nervously.

"Cheers," He mock toasted and downed the bottle in a few gulps nearly choking on the solution. He threw the bottle down on Fontaine's desk once he finished it and coughed, wiping his mouth.

"How do you feel?" My partner asked, looking Jack up and down for any signs of ill effect.

"I... I don't feel anything."

 _"Yes!"_  Tenenbaum startled us over the radio.  _"The compound is taking hold. The effects of mental suggestion are now gone, but there will certainly be side-effects."_ Jack yelped when his hand sudden switched from being electrified to being on fire.  _"Yes, Lot 192 has reorganized your entire plasmid structure. I should have known you would need a larger dosage. You'll have to locate another dosage to fully remove the effects. Yes, gut - go and find Suchong's lab in Artemis Suites. In there, no doubt, there will be more of this Lot 192. It is too dangerous to re-engineer your plasmids in the state Fontaine has put you in. You'll just have to make do with what you have."_

"And Fate throws us a curve ball. Let's get to Suchong's lab," I groaned, taking the lead back out of Fontaine's apartment.

It was a fight out of the apartment and to the bulkhead leading to Apollo Square since more splicers had meandered their way into Olympus Heights again. It was strange being home again as we entered the Artemis Suites and I looked around at the level of destruction this place had suffered. It almost made me upset since I could see my old door was still blown off its hinges, my home ransacked off anything of use. It became apparently that someone had come back to clear the place out after Patrick was taken. I wandered up to the door and let my hand trace the broken wood.

"What is this place?" Jack questioned, looking around. He yelped again suddenly and his plasmid changed to a red polyp: hypnotize.

I sighed and looked around at the damage inside. "It is...  _was_  my home."

My stove was for some reason on  _fire_  and it smelt like someone had burned their arm or something on it from the smell of burning flesh. My table was shattered and my chairs were strewn about. My fridge was open and barren (combination of myself packing up the food for Sinclair and I's escape to Ryan Amusements and splicers pillaging the place) and there was something staining the counter that I couldn't tell if it was condiments or blood.

My sitting room was just as wrecked. My couches were flipped and carved up like someone was bored and decided to slice up the fabric. My telly was smashed beyond all hope of repair and my desk was broken in half. I dared not think what the state of my bedroom was like.

"It looks like it was a nice place to live," Jack tried to comfort, glancing around trying to imagine what the home of Hawkeye would be like.

I shook my head and stalked back toward the front door. This place wasn't my home anymore. It was a shell of its former self, one where I was safe and Patrick was still alive. "Let's go get your cure." I led them out my dilapidated door and around the walkway up to the 3rd floor where Suchong's Free Clinic was located.

Inside, I nearly gagged at the sight. Pinned to the desk by a Big Daddy drill was none other than Dr. Yi Suchong himself along with an audio diary not to far from where he lay covered in blood. "Okay, this I gotta here," Camille commented, picking up the audio diary and pressing play.

_"Clinical Trial Protector System, Plasmid Lot 255, Dr. Suchong; client, Ryan Industries. Very frustrating day - I can't seem to get the damn Big Daddies to imprint on the little brats. The protection bond is just not forming."_

_"Papa Suchong, Papa Suchong!"_

_"Get away, stupid girl. Maybe if I modify the genetic sequence to allow for -"_ The little girl on the tape became more persistent with getting Dr. Suchong's attention so much that it pissed him off.  _"Get away, you filthy little shit!"_ Camille winced when she heard the sharp sound of skin connecting to skin, meaning Suchong had slapped the little girl. That was when we heard the roar of a Big Daddy and Suchong scream for help.  _"Oh god, you metal moron, what are you doing? Get back! AHHHH!"_ The drill cut off the tape. So that's what happened.

Jack wandered off into the back labs and finally located another dosage of the Lot 192, slugging it down before his body could protest the liquid.  _"Now you are having freedom. Suchong's drugs should have no hold on you. Take the bathysphere to Point Prometheus. It is time for this matter to be settled,"_  Tenenbaum instructed before signing off.

We grinned when Jack came back to join us, looking like he just had a 100 lbs weight lifted off his shoulders. "How do you feel?" Camille asked, shouldering her shotgun.

"Free."

 _"You broke the spell?!"_  Fontaine came over the radio like thunder.  _"But laying all your chips on Mother Goose, it's not like you've never been double-crossed before, you know what I'm sayin'? Hell, you're in the company of my former secretary and a spy for hire. Hoof it to Point Prometheus. We'll discuss this like men. You, me, a submarine topside and more ADAM than you could possibly imagine."_

I glared at the radio and clicked it off. Jack stared at me and Camille for the tensest moment of our journey and asked, "What does he mean?" He was careful and suspicious which he was in the right. He knew virtually nothing about us other than our names (except mine) and that we lived in Rapture a long time.

"I used to be a secretary at Fontaine Futuristics. Specifically, Fontaine's personal secretary. But that was in the past, far longer than I'd like to admit."

Jack turned to me, expecting me to explain my story. I was about to tell him to shove it, when Camille elbowed me in the side and glared at me. I sighed and reluctantly answered, "I'm a spy for a man named Sinclair. I knew practically everything about everyone on anything. Happy?"

"You were a spy?"

"For lack of a better word, yes. I collected information for a paycheck. Listen, Jack, don't let this make you suspicious of us. Who  _didn't_  double-cross you? Us. Who are you gonna listen to? Us or Fontaine?"

" _She_  lied to me, double-crossed me."

"Yes, and I'm sorry!" Camille defended. "I was scared of Fontaine. He would have  _killed_  me if I didn't comply. He's instilled that fear in me for years..." She trailed off, biting at her bottom lip.

I held my hands up to calm them down. "I'm not saying you should trust us, because Camille's a slave to her own emotions and I'm a habitual liar. But just trust that we're here to help you, because in the long run if we help you, then we can get out of here."

Jack nodded and gave us both an apologetic smile. "I'm sorry. I'm just..."

"Still smarting from Atlas' betrayal," Camille filled in the blanks.

I loaded a bolt into the crossbow and nodded toward the door. "Let's get the hell out of here. Fontaine didn't show up for his own funeral. We need to correct that." Camille reloaded a few more buck shots into her shotgun.

"And then we'll get out of here," Jack grinned taking the lead this time.

Camille grabbed my shoulder, forcing me to look at her. "Cam?"

"Promise we'll all get out together."

"What?"

"Promise me. Promise me that we'll get on that bathysphere and we won't ever look back.  _You_  won't ever look back."

"Cam..." I sighed, noting the stubborn look in her eye that she wouldn't take no for an answer. "I promise."

She nodded, accepting the promise and walked past me, leaving me a little confused at what just happened. Why would she make me promise to get on the bathysphe-? The reason hit by like a pipe to the skull: Sinclair was in Ryan Amusements, way out of our way to go and get him and get on a bathysphere topside.

She wanted me to leave him here. She wanted me to abandon Sinclair.


	25. Chapter 25

I glanced back and forth between the silent Jack Ryan and the fidgety Camille Adler, I being anxious. The bathysphere was taking us straight over to Point Prometheus: to our last stand against Frank Fontaine. Jack eventually looked up from his machine gun and gave us a weak smile before returning to it, tightening a few of the coils so that the weapon wouldn't jam. I couldn't return the smile no matter how hard I tried.

The bathysphere docked at long last, and we carefully stepped out one by one, Jack taking point while Camille and I trailed behind. Ascending the stairs, we looked around at the dilapidated station that had suffered under the random Big Daddy rampages that went through here during training. Even the time board was blown out of the floor and sitting precariously on its side on top of a pile of rubble.

We weaved through the destruction to the tunnel on the other side and vaguely heard a splicer shouting something or another. Never thought that they'd make it here with the Big Daddies that were still trapped here. "Stay alert," Camille warned, her shotgun fully loaded and ready.

We approached the other end of the tunnel and realized that it wasn't a splicer, but Frank Fontaine rigging up a few security bots. For that moment we were glad that the door refused to open. "Oh bloody hell..." I groaned, dropping to my knee and taking aim at the bots.

"I don't even want to see them walk!" Fontaine shouted at the bots before they beeped to life, flying over to our direction. The door still refused to open even with us standing next to it, so the bots could only do one thing: Shoot out the glass. Camille flinched when the glass bounced off her arms, but that didn't stop the buckshot that was placed into one of the security bots. That bot was finished off with an arrow to one of it's camera lenses.

Jack charged ahead, giving chase to Fontaine. "Jack!" Camille shouted after him, dispatching the second security bot. We both ran after the young man only to discover him banging on the door leading further into Point Prometheus and the Proving Grounds.

 _"Scheiße! You let him get away,"_  Tenenbaum scolded us, sounding overtly annoyed.  _"I need a moment for thinking..."_

Camille wandered over to the lock to try and see what she could, but she groaned in frustration. "The wires are completely shot. Hawkeye, what about the vents?"

I shook my head. "Above us is a spider splicer nest. It'd be suicide to go through those vents even if we're careful."

 _"Ah!"_ Tenenbaum suddenly said, and I could almost picture her look of triumph at whatever she thought of,  _"Ach, of course! This will be no problem. Find a Big Daddy and search his body. I would suggest you to be finding a dead one."_

"Kraut, what are you going on about?" I questioned.

 _"Quiet. Just do it. I explain later,"_  She retorted, and it took everything I had to keep my face impassive. Camille elbowed me and followed Jack to a nearby  _dead_  Big Daddy who had been slammed through a wall, its heavy limbs strewn about like a rag doll. Made me wonder what exactly happened to earn this result.  _"Do you see the suit control system? Sehr gut, get it. That is step one of turning you into one of those disgusting Big Daddies."_

Camille snatched the radio from Jack's hand with the chant of, "Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa! Are you out of your mind?"

 _"It is the only way to get through that door fontaine went through. A Little One must open it,"_  The kraut explained hurriedly.  _"And they'll only trust Jack if he looks like, sounds like and even smells like one of those big, stinking brutes."_

I crossed my arms loosely with my crossbow hanging off to the side. "This is crazy, Tenenbaum," Camille argued pacing the length of the Big Daddy corpse.

Jack shrugged and retrieved the control system from the suit. It came out with a short tug on a few wires and made me blink at the size. It was about the size of a dictionary with various cables, and wires hanging from the box all designed make controlling the heavy suit a lot easier on the person grafted into the suit. Camille shoved the radio back into Jack's hands and growled, "Follow me."

"What did Tenenbaum say?" I asked, following behind her.

"She told me everything we had to get: The body suit, the helmet, the boots and the Big Daddy pheromone."

"One second you're calling her crazy, the next you're agreeing to run her errands," I commented plainly which earned me a glare.

"As much as I hate doing this to Jack, she's right. Those Little Sisters are our only chance through that door. Hopefully, Tenenbaum can fix Jack once we..." She trailed off.

I put my hand on her shoulder and said, "It'll be all right, Cam."

"You're lying through your teeth."

"Prove it." I stepped away and moved toward a nearby staircase. The staircase led past a library which I paid no mind to since there would be Big Daddy parts in there. "Where to, Miss Adler?" I asked, looking between the workshops.

"There," She answered and gestured to the Little Wonders Educational Facility, the neon sign fizzing and sparking from sustained damage. "They produced the pheromones there as well as conditioned the Little Sisters."

"Conditioned?" Jack questioned, following us to the door labeled 'main hall'.

Camille didn't answer and took the lead. The main foyer split of to go around a section of wall, one leading to desks, the other leading to a viewing area.  _"We bred Little Ones to imprint certain smells, the pheromones. But this is not like putting on aftershave. You'll need three industrial applications of this stuff, and then the Little Ones will be drawn to you like a bee to honey. You will have to gather three pheromones here, so that you smell disgusting, just like a Big Daddy,"_  Tenenbaum explained.

Camille wandered over to a desk and plucked a red vial off the surface. "Here. This is one of them." She handed it to Jack who took it and pulled the cork off.

He gave it a whiff and nearly gagged at the stench. "Smells like rotting fish!" He groaned, covering his nose. My hand flew to my nose at the stink emanating from the bottle, my face screwing up in disgust.

"You gotta do it," Camille reluctantly urged, pushing the bottle closer to him.

He sighed and dumped the bottle over what skin was available for purchase. The pheromone made me and Camille gag, but did its job of soaking into Jack's skin, becoming a permanent smell to him. Jack groaned again and shivered uncontrollably. "Okay..." I gulped down the bile in the back of my throat. "2 more to go."

 _"I can only be glad I am nowhere near you and that awful stink. Why the Little Ones are drawn to the smell of those pheromones is beyond anything I can understand."_  Camille and I equally glared at the radio both thinking the same thing: Look who's talking, kraut.

 _"Mother Goose really got her hooks into you,"_  Fontaine chuckled darkly over the radio and Camille froze up. I pushed her to continue our search for the bottles.  _"You can knock Ryan all you want, but the old man was bingo on one point of fact: You won't even walk 'til somebody says 'go!'"_

"Don't listen to him, Jack. He's getting backed into a corner," I reassured glancing over the railing. "Holy..."

The railing overlooked a little room with a single bed perfectly sized for a child with a pink blanket covering the mattress. There was a white bookshelf beside the bed with a little lamp resting on top. A teddy bear laid on the ground holding a gift box and a Little Sister needle not too far from it. In front of the bear was another bottle of the pheromone. "Hang on," I called to the other two and leaped over the railing.

"Hawkeye!" Camille shouted after me and flung herself at the railing.

I landed without a problem in the room and grabbed the bottle. I held up the bottle for her to see and tossed it up into her waiting hands. The door behind me didn't open when I pulled the lever, placed precariously out of reach of a child. "Shit," I cursed before glancing up.

I took a few steps back before running full sprint at the wall, using my momentum to kick off the wall and up, my hands outstretched. I barely caught the railing, but regardless, I pulled myself up again with a grunt. "That..." Jack muttered, staring at me wide-eyed. "...was amazing."

I just nodded. Camille shook her head at me and handed Jack the next bottle of pheromone. He administered it and thankfully we adjusted quickly to the stench so we could continue. "How are we going to get that stench off of you?" I questioned, grimacing again at the smell.

Jack shrugged. "Hopefully Dr. Tenenbaum can fix it."

"Hopefully. Or else it's going to take a lot of cologne to get rid of that stench."

Camille led us to a back room, and we paused. Numerous operating tables were scattered around the place, a few freezers for chemicals and a few television screens. "What is this place?" Jack questioned, glancing around.

"I don't know," Camille admitted, glancing around. "I've never seen this part."

We walked further into the room and spotted a bottle of pheromone on the furthest desk with a wide bay window overlooking the ocean floor. Jack walked up to the desk and reached for the bottle, but stopped. "Jack?" I asked approaching him. His eyes were fixed on a storage closet to the left with a shelf against the farthest wall. In a pile on the floor was the very familiar dresses of the Little Sisters.

A tear fell down Jack's face, catching me off guard. "Jack?"

"'No, Papa Suchong, I don't want to go on the table,'" He repeated. "That's what the ghost said. The ghost of a little girl." He leaned heavily against the desk staring at the bottle of pheromones in his hand. "This place... It's nothing but evil."

Camille didn't bother to place her hand on his shoulder like she would have to comfort him. It didn't take a genius to know that she indirectly helped with this, a fact that Jack had learned from Ryan before he died violently. Even if she was just Fontaine's secretary, she knew about it and could have stopped it, but she didn't. She just sat back and collected a paycheck. Not that I was any saint: I gathered information on people that Ryan wanted Sinclair to make disappear and some involuntarily became Big Daddies. Like Johnny Topside a.k.a Subject Delta. I saw his file on Sinclair's desk once, and a quick peek lead me to conclude that Johnny was no longer human, but one of those hulking behemoths, specifically the first Big Daddy to bond with a Little Sister.

"Let's go. We've got more stuff to get," I said moving to leave the room.

_"Is good start. Now you need only to find the suit and the voice box from the other labs, and you will be a proper brute. Get moving."_

Fail-Safe Armored Escorts held most of what we needed: The body suit and the helmet, but the boots were a problem. "Are you kidding me? They're in the library?!" Camille growled at the Accu-Vox recording Suchong had made to vent his frustrations.

"I'll go get the boots and the suit. Just find the voice box," I said, walking away from the two.

"Hawkeye!" Camille called after me. I stopped and looked back at them. "Take this!" She tossed her radio at me, and I snatched it out of the air. "Be careful."

I nodded and attached the radio to my belt. "Same goes to you." I walked out of sight of them and into the library. I stared with wide eyes a rocket turret placed defensively between the narrow walkway that led further into the library. "Oh shit!" I shouted and ducked behind one of the bookshelves. The turret lets off a rocket causing books and papers to go flying everywhere, raining down around me.

Glancing down at my crossbow, I cursed not bringing a shotgun or something. I took a few deep breaths and waited for another rocket to come out and explode before coming out of cover. Quickly aiming down the sights, I let an arrow fly down the barrel, causing the projectile to detonate prematurely, taking the turret with it. I grinned at the rain of debris and the scorch mark that tattooed the floor. "Not bad," I commented, stepping over the bits of charred metal.

The boots were easy to spot, but as I approached them, a splicer popped out from behind the counter, hurling fireballs at me. It was quickly silenced by a bolt to the head. I grabbed the boots with one arm so that I could maintain a grip on my crossbow and left the library, making my way to Fail-Safe Armored Escorts to collect the suit and helmet.

* * *

I perked up at Camille chatting angrily from the tone, but I couldn't quite make out the words. Camille came into view first followed by Jack both of them giving an incredulous look at the pile of Big Daddy armor I was sitting on. "How on earth did you manage to collect this as fast as you did?" Camille questioned, circling the armor while Jack slowly started to put them on.

"I have my ways." A lot of dragging, grunting and cursing, that's how.

I placed the boots in front of him, and he stepped into them carefully. "Well, this is certainly different," I mused looking through the porthole at the man inside. "How do you feel?"

He grumbled low catching me off guard. "The voice box was a little more... permanent than we thought," Camille explained, looking at Jack with an apologetic look.

"Hope the kraut can fix him."

 _"Yes, now this is a Big Daddy. Are you ready? No, go to the Little Sister vent by the Proving Grounds,"_  Tenenbaum ordered.

I glanced at the Little Sister vent nearby and motioned for Jack to go. "We'll be right behind you." He gave out a grumble and moved to the vent, hammering on it with his fist.

On cue, a little girl crawls out, carrying a Little Sister needle with her. She was cured of the ADAM slug, but it didn't make the needle any less ominous. "Hey, Mr. B, follow me!" She giggled walking toward the door. A little door at the bottom opened up and allowed her to pass through without any trouble. It took only a few seconds before the doors slid open and the Little Sister was standing there with a grin on her face. 'Come on, Mr. B, this way!"

_"The Little Ones will lead you to Fontaine, but you must protect them. Und bitte, it would mean very much to me if you will be gentle with the girls - mein kleines mädchen."_

Jack thudded past the doors and Camille and I followed at a safe distance behind so that we wouldn't startle the girl.

 _"That's it, kid. It's been a long road. You don't even remember most of it. Put you on a sub where you were just a sprout. I really wound you up with that wife and child bit: 'Ah, me wee baby Patrick!' Maybe one day, I'll get me a real family. They play well with the suckers,"_ Fontaine sniggered, and Camille's grip on her shotgun tightened.

"Don't listen to him," I reminded harshly, getting sick of repeating myself.

The Proving Grounds, once a museum that held no further use and was making no money, so it was bought out by Fontaine to be used as a Big Daddy training ground, the displays of fish still intact surprisingly. The lobby still had the front desk with a cash register on top of it, no one bothering to remove it after clearing it of money.

We followed the Little Sister into the central atrium, arriving in time to watch the giant whale skeleton collapse onto the floor below, crushing a Big Daddy in the process. Across the atrium on another balcony was another Big Daddy - a bouncer - who let out a loud roar and disappeared through the doors behind him. "Anyone get a bad feeling?" Camille questioned, glancing to me.

I shook my head and followed Jack and the Little Sister through the nearby gate. "I see an angel!" The Little Sister said with a strange sense of glee and immediately drove her needle into the stomach of a corpse on the ground.

That triggered the yells of nearly a dozen splicers. "Here they come," I stated, crossbow prepped to shoot anything that came at us.

Like clockwork, splicers came sprinting down the hallways. Camille let off a few buck shots, blowing a few of them away, but others got too close for comfort. Jack was quick to blow away any that our shotgun shells and bolts missed. I ran out of bolts, and before I had a chance to reload a new magazine of bolts, a splicer came sprinting down the hall. I stood and delivered a well-timed kick to his head, sending him into the wall. I punched in his ribs, feeling each bone crack under the pressure of my punches, my last punch caving in his throat. He slumped to the ground, choking on his own blood and ultimately died. 2 more came down the hall and were met with my freshly reloaded crossbow sending bolts into their chests.

The Little Sister finally stood up from harvesting the ADAM from the corpse and called out, "Let's go, Mr. B!"

We had to repeat the process two more times, fending off both splicers and the rogue bouncer we saw earlier, Jack effectively taking the bouncer down with little trouble. "Let's never do this again," Camille voiced, her breath heavy from exertion. My own matched hers and Jack's shoulders sagged from the weight of the Big Daddy suit with the added heavy limbs from lifting the heavy arms of the suit to even fire a weapon. And with Fontaine chiming through the radio at every turn, it became apparent how much splicing this man was doing from the way the sanity in his voice changed and the exertion it was under.

The Little Sister finally lead us to a room stocked up on everything we would need: grenades, ammunition, vending machines and a Gatherer's Garden in the corner. "Holy Moses..." I muttered, looking around at everything. I immediately moved to the stacks of crossbow bolts and pocketed a few packs, reloading the spent magazine with a fresh one. I repeated the action with the revolver (stolen from Camille) and pocketed a few more rounds for emergencies. Camille did the same with her shotgun and revolver and together we waited for Jack to finish prepping his own gear. The Little Sister crawled into the nearby vent and turned around, holding out her syringe for Jack.

_"There, you must use the needle of the Little Sister to drain Fontaine of his ADAM. It is the only way to defeat him. Fontaine waits above. There will be no going back from here. Make sure you are ready to face him before moving on."_

"End of the line," Camille breathed, her gaze fixated on the elevator that was conveniently big enough for the 3 of us, even with Jack's suit.

"In for a dime, in for a dollar."

We were about to step on to the elevator when Camille, of course, stopped us. Why did I see this coming? "Let me go up first."

I shook my head. I knew what tree she was trying to bark up. There was no way in hell Fontaine would just  _surrender_. I almost felt sorry for her really: Fontaine had instilled enough fear and really sunk his claws into her tiny little heart. Even now as he was ripping the organ from her chest, she still wanted to appease to whatever humanity he had left. "No way. You'll be mincemeat."

" _Please!"_  She begged. "Maybe I can talk him down, tell him to surrender..." My arm twitched to punch her straight in the fucking mouth. Jack let out a groan from his helmet, his tone displeased with the notion as well of Camille going to 'talk down' Fontaine from his determination to kill us in the most violent way possible. There would be  _very_  little left that was actually Fontaine with how badly he was splicing himself.

I almost screamed at her, "Goddammit, Adler, I knew you didn't have it in you! Well, fuck you!" It took almost everything I had not to punch her in the fucking mouth. "You may not be able to put him down, but I gladly will."

"I-I..." She paused, her eyes clenching shut. "You're right. I can't. I told Tenenbaum this. She said... She said I had to try for  _him_ ," She jerked her chin at Jack who shrugged showing he had no idea what she was talking about. I could feel my muscles tensing, itching to lay one right across her jaw, but refrained. "He's desperate. He's... spliced out of his mind. Maybe I can..."

"He  **killed**  my son! You can't do anything!" I snapped letting my anger boil over. She visibly flinched and took a step back. "He didn't even have the dignity to do it himself. No, he stuffed Patrick in a sub presumably under the lie that they were going to use the sub to escape, only if he cooperated with the elaborate lie, Fontaine crafted as Atlas. Then the sub exploded. He didn't care that Patrick was dead. All he cared about was getting Jack to kill Ryan. He's  _not_ walking out of here. If you can't handle that, then step aside. We'll put him down. Gladly."

My hand fell away and gripped tightly to my crossbow. Camille reached for the gate that blocked our access to the elevator, but her hand fell short, hovering over the handle. "You're right."

I blinked at the admission. "Really?"

"Y-Yes. I just... I panicked. I want... things to end well. I want him to give up. But I want my life  _more_. There's no mercy in him. If I tried to reason with him, he'd just kill me. I don't want that. I want to get out of here." I'd see to it personally.

"We will. Me, you, Jack, Tenenbaum, and  _Sinclair._ " I purposely added Sinclair's name to see her reaction. Her face went blank for a moment: gotcha.

"Y-Yes. Sinclair." And a stumble of words. I'm sorry, Camille, but I'm  _not_  going to leave Sinclair behind. Hell would freeze over before that happened.

Camille finally opened the elevator and gestured for us to step inside. My hand hovered over the button as I glanced at Camille and Jack, inhaling sharply. "Ready?"

"Ready." Jack banged a fist twice on the metal framing of the elevator in agreement. I really hope the kraut could fix him; it'd be a shame to see him suffer like this for the rest of his life. He didn't deserve that.


	26. Chapter 26

My fist hit the button and gate closed, the carriage going upward to our final destination. For a moment the steel wall gave way to plexiglass windows, revealing the cityscape that was once the beautiful Rapture, now a decaying corpse of what it formally was. I could see Sinclair Tower from our position and made my heart clench. Sinclair was still alone in the bowels of Ryan Amusements and this fight would determine whether or not I return to him again. I clung to the measly strings of hope that Sinclair had a habit of giving me.

"How will we... go back? To America? After all this?" Camille questioned, leaning heavily against the wall of the carriage.

"We won't know 'til we get there." If anything, I was going back to the UK from America, but one step at a time. First we had to  _somehow_  defeat the severely spliced up Fontaine, then get to a sub that is hopefully still functional and get topside. Then we'd have to find some way to find land since it was still a couple hundred miles away from the nearest shoreline. Maybe my grandparents were still alive. Doubtful, but it was nice to dream. Sinclair would like the countryside, being from Panama and Georgia.

 _"I remember when me and the Kraut put you in that sub. You were no more than two,"_  Fontaine rasped over the radio. He had already lost his damn mind, I could tell. He sounded  _just_  like the splicers that roamed around, if only a type of madness that came with intelligence behind it. If he wasn't try to brutally murder us, I would have been impressed.  _"You were my ace in the hole, but you were also the closest thing I ever had to a son. That's why this hurts. Betrayal, kid. Life ain't strictly business."_

I felt Jack stiffen from the arm touching my shoulder blade. I reached back and squeezed the heavy gloved hand.

The carriage careened to a stop at our stop and the door slid open. I was out first, scanning the area with a keen eye and my finger on the trigger, but saw no immediate movement. Jack and Camille were behind me, guns poised to shoot anything. "Where is he?" I questioned, glancing around at the clump of computers monitoring everything and the huge vats of ADAM. It was a creepy looking lair, that was for sure.

"I don't know..." Camille said, stepping past me. "Fontaine! Come out you sonofabitch! Don't fucking hide!" She's been hanging around me  _way_  too much; her mouth got worse.

I shivered when I heard the devil himself chuckle darkly, stepping out from behind a vat of ADAM and I nearly froze at the sight of him. He was a hulking giant of pure muscle and thick skin, dark grey in its tone. He towered over us, even Jack who was quite tall for someone of his stature. He was a humanoid, statuesque being that would definitely pack a deadly punch. "Ya made it," He seemed to purr, sending an unpleasant shiver up my spine. "Let's see: a malnourished amateur spy..." Who the fuck was he calling amateur? "...a weakling office worker and a walking test tube." He chuckled. "Ya shoulda backed off when I gave ya the chance; now you're gonna regret comin' up here." He walked toward us. "I  _own_  this fuckin' city - you understand?  _Me_. I'm  _king_  and you're  _nothin'_."

Camille was trembling at this point, her hands wringing her shotgun, desperate to do  _something_. Don't fuck this up, Camille, please don't be a moron. "Go ahead, Cam," He dared. "Take your best shot, kid. Don't miss. I mean it." He spread his arms, giving her a clear shot. I would have stuck a shell right then and there, but this was  _Camille_ ; she hesitated to cock her shotgun when it should have been prepped.

Before I could leap to yank her out of the way, Fontaine lunged forward, snatching the shotgun from her grasp. The metal was easily crushed under his inhuman strength and he tossed it aside. "Cam-" I was cut off when Fontaine's hand shot out and seized Camille's throat, holding her above the ground like she weighed absolutely nothing.

I was about to charge him when Jack grabbed my shoulder;  _stopping me from saving my friend and the biggest pain in my ass I have ever met._  But I quickly understood why: I didn't stand a chance again him. I would die before I could even get a finger lifted from Camille's throat. I nearly screamed when he spun around and slammed her into a nearby wall, her head colliding sickeningly with the cold concrete. His arm reeled back and again the young woman was slammed into the wall.

"You made a big fuckin' mistake comin' after me," He growled, leaning in close to her. "I tried to warn ya - I really did - but you never did take a lesson well. Now, I'm gonna make an example outta you."

"No!" I shouted, breaking from of Jack's grip. I was cut off instantly by a swarm of splicers coming to Fontaine's defense.

The fight was on for myself and Jack. I ducked from a wild pipe swing, slamming my elbow into the nose of a splicer behind me and whipping him around to use him as a flesh shield from a machine gun spraying bullets towards me. I dropped the splicer and spared a moment to glance over at Camille and Fontaine only to have my breath hitch in my throat. Camille was slumped against the wall now, a knife embedded in her side; her  _own_ knife.

"Shit!" I growled, sticking a bolt into the skull of another splicer before kicking another in the groin and flipping over his hunched over frame.

The splicers would have to wait, Camille was  _dying_. Fontaine raised his fist to cave in her chest when I jumped on to his back, scrambling to get a hold of his throat. I whipped my switchblade out and stabbed directly into his chest. He let out a roar and caught my ankle - shit... I was quite literally ripped from his back and thrown like I weighed no more than a baseball into the wall besides Cam knocking the wind out of me and rattling my rib cage. I'm pretty sure a few ribs had cracked and my spine would be feeling it for weeks. "Jamie!" Cam called out, reaching for me.

Before he could advance on us, Jack slammed his shoulder into him which threw him off balance.

"Why did you do that?" I heard Camille choke. I couldn't breathe much less answer.

I groaned, coughed and sat up. Camille ripped the knife out of her side and dropped it in lieu of pressing her hand against her side to attempt to stop the bleeding. "Jesus Christ," I cursed, ripping one of the sleeves of my shirt off to make a makeshift bandage. "That was a stupid move, Adler. You should have kept the knife in." I pressed the cloth over the wound and placed her hand over it to hold it in place.

"Kept the knife in? Are you insane?" She grumbled.

"It would have slowed the bleeding. I thought you studied medical books while working with Atlas." She glared at me for patronizing her. If it kept her alert and engaged, I didn't care.

Jack and Fontaine fought wildly: gunfire, plasmids, and roars being exchanged at an almost frightening pace that made me thankful that Jack was able to hold his own against Fontaine. "I really do have a death wish," Camille mumbled, her voice way weaker than it should be.

"Don't die, Adler," I said, pressing a revolver in her hand so that she would be able to defend herself should I fail to do so. "Don't do anything stupid either. I'm getting real sick of babysitting you."

"That's a lot of orders. I'll do my best."

I shook my head before spinning around to stick a crossbow bolt between the eyes of a splicer that tried to capitalize on me being temporarily distracted by Camille. My back flared up in pain but I suppressed it - now was not the time.

Jack was faring no worse for wear against Fontaine who barraged him with his fists of ice and fire plasmids to try and take the young man down. I did my best to hold off the splicers that tried to attack Jack from behind, none getting too close to even land a hit on the boy's diving suit. I cursed when my crossbow ran out of bolts and I dumped it, grabbing a dead splicers revolver and continuing my attack, my switchblade appearing in my opposite hand.

My limbs were growing heavy as the fight continued and had no idea how long I could keep this up. I threw my knife into the throat of a splicer running toward Jack at a distance. My foot slipped against the blood coating the floor and a bullet clipped my arm, my yelp uncontrolled. I ducked behind one of the supercomputers and hastily bandaged my wound with a bit more material torn from my canvas jacket. "Shit..." I cursed, glancing out from cover.

Bullets took out a few splicers rounding up on me, and I said a small thank you to Camille who also took out two bots even from her sitting position.

Fontaine let out a yell and charged towards the vat of ADAM, injecting himself with needles. "He needs to recharge!" I shouted at Jack. "He's getting more ADAM!"

Jack retrieved the Little Sister's needle from his belt and plunged it into Fontaine's body, holding fast while Fontaine wreathed underneath the far too large needle in an attempt to throw him off. Fontaine finally ripped Jack away and threw him aside like garbage, almost landing on top of me. The fight was on again, Jack seeming to have the upper hand this time.

I kept the splicers and bots off once again, finding a bot shutdown station nearby thankfully.

Fontaine bellowed again and returned to the vats and Jack was on him again. Fontaine's desperate attempts to punch Jack in the face was almost pathetic. Shots ran out again and one of the ADAM vats exploded in a display of glass and the genetic goop. Camille slumped forward from the splicer body she fished the additional revolver bullets from, her eyelids becoming heavy.

No, she couldn't sleep. Not yet. Not until I was  _sure_  she would wake up again. I was next to her in an instant, growling out, "Oh no you don't." She'd hate me for this later, but I could have cared less: I slapped her clear across the face, startling her awake again. I dragged her dead weight to the wall again and leaned her against it, out of the way of any stray shots from what I could tell. "Hey, look at me," I called to her. " _Look at me_."

She obeyed thankfully. "I made you a promise, Cam. We're gettin' out of here - " A shadow fell over me, and I cursed, "Shit!"

I barely managed to dodge the lead pipe that came swinging down on us. I rolled away and fired a few bullets into the splicer's chest. The splicer crumpled to the ground dead, and I grinned.

Camille gestured toward Fontaine again who was limping this time toward the vats. Jack plunged the needle again and Fontaine fell, trying desperately to get Jack off of him. With a lucky knee to the man's stomach, Jack was kicked across the floor and he didn't get up right away. Fontaine staggered to his feet and hovered over Jack's prone body. I knelt beside Camille again, watching carefully. "I had you  _built!_  I sent you topside. I called you back, showed you what you was, what you was capable of! Even that life you thought you had? That was something  _I_  dreamed up and tattooed inside your head." Fontaine grabbed the Big Daddy's helmet shielding Jack's face from any real damage. "Now if you don't call that family: I DON'T KNOW WHAT IS!"

"Shit, shit, shit," I hissed. "Get up, Jack, c'mon, get up!" I raised my revolver and fired frantically at Fontaine. I missed several times, but the ones that did hit brought Fontaine's attention to me which meant Jack wouldn't die, but now I was going to die. I shifted over until I had put myself between her and Fontaine who roared and charged.

Sinclair... I'm sorry.

A collective of small battle cries flooded the area, and Tenenbaum's Little Ones came through the vents, Ruth included in the gaggle. They launched themselves at Fontaine's legs, throwing him off balance with their needles. They stabbed their needles anywhere they could: his legs, chest, arms, neck, stomach. The ADAM filled their needles easily, but they continued.

The ones he threw away landed hard on the floor and cried since they were just children. Ruth landed near me and I had my arms around her instantly to quell her crying. "That fuckin' Kraut. Unbelievable," I nearly laughed hysterically, my face in Ruth's hair.

"Get off me, you little shits!" Fontaine roared, but the roar fell on deaf ears.

It was finally over.

Fontaine laid dead on the ground, the little girls cheering for his defeat, jumping around with their needles held high. I sat down heavily on the ground, bringing Ruth tighter against my chest. Jack stumbled over to us and ripped his helmet off, revealing the sweaty, pale and flushed face from exhaustion he was suffering. Jack's hand clamped over Camille's bleeding wound and moaned.

One of the little girls wandered over shyly and held out a shiny object to Jack. "Fontaine's genetic key..." I said softly, letting Ruth return to her sisters.

Camille pushed Jack away. "You need to undo Fontaine's hold on the city..." she rasped. "Unlock the bathyspheres. We need to..." She gasped as pain shot through her. Dammit, she was dying. "We need to  _leave_."

I was instantly surrounded by Tenenbaum's Little Ones, Ruth making her way into my lap again, each little girl hugging on to my arms and torso. "Are we going to leave this place?" One asked, and I nodded.

"You're getting out of 'ere. You'll know what the sun looks like."

Ruth reached up and touched my head. "You're bleeding," She commented, drawing her fingers away to reveal blood. I hadn't realized my head was bleeding. I must have gotten hit at some point, but I don't remember. Everything happened so fast.

"I'll be fine. I'm sure I'm in for a headache."

Jack lumbered over and gestured to a nearby bathysphere port; Fontaine's personal bathysphere. I nodded and motioned for the Little Ones to follow Jack while I picked up the now unconscious Camille. She was still breathing so that was a good sign at least.

We rushed to the bathysphere port Jack gesturing for the little girls to clamor inside. Tenenbaum showed up and didn't say a word, only putting her hand on my shoulder and stepping inside. I sighed, staring at the interior of bathysphere, cold, damp, unused for months and my heart longed for it; to step inside and leave this place forever. But I couldn't leave; not yet.

Jack reached out and took Camille's arm from me, laying her on the seat opposite of himself and the Little Ones. Tenenbaum immediately went about trying to patch Camille up and stabilize her enough so she wouldn't die. Camille moaned from the administrations, her eyes cracking open. "Jamie..." She lightly called, her fingers twitching for some purchase on me.

I moved into the 'sphere and took her hand lightly with my own. "Camille, you're a royal pain in my neck."

She smiled, barely a quirk of her lips really. "We're going to the surface…" She chuckled under her breath. "At long last."

"You deserve it."

She sat up painfully, grunting as her strength mostly failed her. By pure willpower, she managed to sit upright by herself even with Tenenbaum and me hovering over her and her every move. "Where are we gonna go?" She asked.

"Anywhere."

"Where do you want to go?"

I sighed and answered, "Maybe back to the UK. See my grandmum and grandfather again." I didn't even realize until mentioning the UK that the accent had somewhat returned. It had been too long since I heard it from my own vocal cords that I almost missed it.

"And you're coming with, right? You promised." I inhaled sharply. "Jamie?"

"I'm sorry."

I stepped back out of the bathysphere. Jack looked at me confused as did Camille. I glanced back at Fontaine's corpse; growing cold and for a moment, Sinclair lying flat on the ground flooded my mind and wrenching at my heart. I looked back at Jack and thinned my lips. I put my hand on the bathysphere's heavy bulkhead door and started to close it.

"Hawkeye!" Camille nearly screamed, "Jamie Donovan, don't you dare!"

Before the door could close fully, Camille's fist connected with my jaw. I hit the ground with her straddling my waist as punch after punch connected with some part of my face. It wasn't the strongest of punches I've ever had. In fact, I'd say it was the weakest I've ever felt, but getting punched still hurt. "You promised!" She growled, grabbing my hair and slamming my head against the ground. "Even if I had to drag you kicking and screaming!"

I caught her fist finally and with a small shift of weight, managed to plant my foot on her stomach and monkey flip her over me. She landed heavily on her back, gasping for the air that was knocked out of her. Her wound had opened up again and dripped on to the floor. "Sorry, Camille," I apologized, wiping my busted lip with the edge of my sleeve. "But I'm goin' to 'ave to break my promise."

Grabbing the back of her shirt, I dragged her toward the bathysphere again. With a grunt, I threw her on the floor of the bathysphere with strength I didn't even know I had. Adrenaline, I guess. I smiled meekly at her and closed the bulkhead, the automatic seals catching and sealing them air tight. "I'm sorry, but I can't abandon 'im."

Camille shot to the door from the floor, her fists slamming into the window. "Jamie! Jamie, no! Open this damn door!" She shouted, her delicate hands slamming painfully against the glass. "You  _promised!_ "

I sighed and shook my head. "I'm sorry, Cammy."

"Don't 'Cammy' me! Don't throw away your life for him!" She pleaded, sinking to her knees. Her burst of strength was disappearing as quickly as it arrived. Her hands fell from the glass to the ground limply. "Please..."

I looked to Jack and smiled. "Take care of 'er. She can't be left alone for more than 5 minutes without doin' somethin' stupid." Jack gritted his teeth, the sorrow evident in his face, but he nodded moving behind Camille and hooking his hands under her armpits to haul her into to the seat again. She struggled against him with what little strength she had, cursing me in every way she knew how. "I'm sorry, Camille Adler. I won't leave him behind. I'll try to get to another bathysphere, but that's all I can do."

"Jamie!" She shouted one last time before Jack pulled the handle to 'Surface'.

The bathysphere slowly sunk into the Atlantic salt water, the water bubbling around the 'sphere. Camille's face streaming tears along with the Little Ones (especially Ruth). Jack nodded one last time to me, a sign of respect and an 'I'll miss you'. "Goodbye," I said once the bathysphere slipped beneath the water's surface and was gone.

"Rest in peace, Patrick." I let out a shaky breath and turned back to the corpse of Fontaine. "I did what you couldn't even do, Fontaine. I got Camille out. I actually cared for her. Rot in 'ell," I spat before loading up my revolver and scooping up my crossbow again. I removed my switchblade from his chest with a tug.

It was deathly quiet now, a drop of water echoing loudly in the lair. I glanced over at a nearby chair that had managed to survive the onslaught enough to remain on its 4 legs. Draped over the back of the chair was Fontaine's canvas jacket that he wore on occasion with his Atlas disguise. I slipped my arms into the sleeves of the jacket, leaving it unbuttoned to shield me from the cold temperatures. My footsteps seemed loud as I walked to the elevator again and stepped inside, leaning heavily against the carriage siding.

Camille was gone. Jack was gone. So were Tenenbaum and the rest of the Little Sisters rescued by Jack. From what I knew of Jack, his kind soul would take those little girls in as his daughters; give them a chance topside unlike what they had down here. Sinclair and I were mostly alone now. With the exception of Sofia Lamb running around in Persephone, but she was the least of my concern.

I stuffed my hands into the pockets of my newly acquired jacket, and I closed my eyes; listening to the sounds of the city and the elevator.

Once I was out of Point Prometheus, I was in the vents again, making it to Ryan Amusements in record time.

I dropped down in front of the entrance to the park and walked calmly to the maintenance room, knocking four times. The door slid open, and Sinclair grinned at me. "I was gettin' worried," He joked, crossing his arms.

My lower lip quivered and within an instant I was wrapped in Sinclair's arms, the tears silently streaming down my face. Sinclair placed loving and gentle kisses in my hair, nuzzling his cheek against the top of my head. I leaned back a bit and looked up into the emerald green eyes that never lost their shine even with the grey streaking his hair. He pulled me inside the maintenance room and locked the door behind us before taking me in his arms again. "You look like you've seen Death 'imself," He said, his smile faltering at my sorrow filled eyes.

"I did it. Fontaine is dead," I stated. "Patrick was avenged."

I thought for sure that I would never see Sinclair again facing down Fontaine. Be held in his strong arms; inhale his musky scent; kissed by his soft lips. Instead of speaking, I placed my arms around his neck and kissed him hard - tasting him like I was dying for the evil I've seen could make the Devil sick.

In the distance, I could hear a few splicers gossip, "Didja hear? Atlas was  _Fontaine._  And he's  _dead_!"

"We must inform the Lamb."

We packed up our things and made a run for it: there were more bathyspheres to board. Rushing through to Fontaine Futuristics, we caught sight of another bathysphere puttering away, but it wasn't the one Jack and the rest were in. By now they'd be at the surface. These were people who could still retain the ability to operate a bathysphere, meaning they were sane and not under the control of Fontaine. "Would'ja look at that!" Sinclair exclaimed. "There's more people who are sane."

"Yeah. C'mon!" I cheered rushing toward the Metro Station. All we'd have to do is find a bathysphere, make sure the CO2 scrubbers were functional and then make a break for the surface. I glanced up at the retreating bathysphere already in the water and my eyes got wide. "Augustus..." I muttered, watching a torpedo head right for the 'sphere.

The resulting explosion tore the 'sphere apart, killing its occupants instantly.

The all too familiar chant echoed through the PA system.

_"THE BUTTERFLY HAS TAKEN WING!"_


	27. Chapter 27

_O Death, won’t you spare me over another year… But what is this that I can’t see with ice cold hands taking hold of me… When God is gone and the Devil takes hold who will have mercy on your soul… No wealth, no ruin, no silver, no gold, nothing satisfies me but your soul… Well I am Death, none can excel… I’ll open the door to Heaven or Hell… My name is Death and the end is here…_

* * *

I sat in front of the small grave, barely noticeable among the others in an attempt to prevent grave robbers. “I hope you’re safe where ever you are,” I murmured, touching the wood I had carved with Patrick’s name.

7 years since the last I saw Camille Adler and Jack Ryan along with any hope of escaping.

After the PA systems screeched to life with the mantra of “ _The butterfly has taken wing_ ”, Rapture seemed to come alive for a brief moment of time: less than three hours of murder, rape and hunting down of the remaining Little Sisters to bring to Lamb. Not one was killed surprisingly which was a credit to Lamb’s capability to control the masses of insane and homicidal splicers.

For now, Ryan Amusements was ours.

Our safe haven, our home, our prison - Just myself and Sinclair alone in a corpse of an amusement park. We scavenged what we could for food, broke vending machines open when we could, stealing whatever ammunition and guns left by dead members of Ryan Security and splicers I managed to take down. There were days that we’d go without food more often than I’d like to think about. Sinclair even tried to starve himself to give me just a bigger portion of food for energy, but I quickly ended that notion. We were living from day to day.

Aside from the occasional skirmishes, it was quiet.

I jumped a little when Augustus touched my shoulder. “We better move,” He suggested, adjusting his pack that was already getting filled with items we’ve collected.

I nodded and took his hand, letting him pull me up. Our destination: Olympus Heights. Specifically the Mercury Suites. Athena’s Glory was still in control of Lamb’s followers despite the lack of residents, but we didn’t want the risk of having an army of splicers sent after us.

The Olympus Heights apartments were mostly deserted since the splicers congregated at the Sinclair Deluxe, Pauper’s Drop and Siren Alley. There were a few that still clung to their ‘glory days’ and still tried to see Steinman even though he was a nothing more than a skeleton. I could hear a few even screaming that Cohen was going to make them a star even though he was dead as well. Augustus whistled low at the state of the apartment complex.

“Looks worse than the last time we were here,” He commented. He adjusted his pack over his shoulder and puffed happily on a crap seashell and fish egg cigarette.

I shrugged and lightly joked, “Maintenance must be slackin’.”

I targeted the vending machine first, Augustus following close to behind. I worked the security system shutting it off so Augustus could safely pry the vending machine open with a crowbar. I cursed twice at the shocks I earned before I heard the satisfying sound of the electronics whirring to a stop. Sinclair jabbed the crowbar into the side of the door and cracked the vending machine open. We filled his pack with the goods that was left inside.

We glanced up at the groan of a Big Daddy nearby. “Take this back home. I’ll searched a few apartments and fill my pack.”

“Careful, darlin’,” He said quietly. “Stay safe.”

“Always.”

I waited by the vending machine until I saw him disappear behind the bulkhead and then moved on to the upper floors. The first apartment I kicked open since the lock was damaged. There wasn’t much, but the few cans of beans were welcoming. No more pep bars tonight.

The next apartment was unlocked and I was startled by the chilling sight of a relatively preserved family of five laying dead on the couches. Rapture had a way of preserving bodies instead of them decaying naturally. The mother and father on one side and three young girls on the other. They must have taken their lives instead of subjecting themselves to the civil war that ravaged the place and also prevented their daughters from becoming Little Sisters. They were about the right age… My hand pressed to my chest to calm my rapid heartbeat.

One of the child’s eyes was still open for Christ’s sake… I reached over tentatively and closed her eyes.

There wasn’t much: a few cans of vegetables, meat and beans along with a few jars of fresh water - enough to hold us over for a few days at least if we rationed carefully. I stuffed them all into the backpack I carried and slung it over my back, looping my arms through the straps.

“Up, up, Mr. B! No time to waste!” That sing-song tune had stopped 3 years ago.

My heart sank. I rushed out of the apartment and nearly screamed in frustration.

There was no doubt that it was a Little Sister - dirty smock, glowing eyes and all - with a lumbering brute of a Big Daddy following behind her, new from the looks of it. Most of the Big Daddies had been taken down by Jack to save the Little Sisters, others went mad, while the rest were reconditioned to do basic repairs on the foundation and leaks. The Little Sister jumped from floor tile to floor tile like she was playing a morbid game of hopscotch among the blood stained floors. It made no sense. The remaining Little Sisters were too old from when Jack was here and splicers sure as hell don’t breed anymore - thank god for that. There was only one place these new little girls could come from: The Surface.

“Dammit Lamb …” I groaned, slamming my hand against the railing. “Why did you do this?”

I flipped down the butterfly mask, I was gone from the area and slipping down the hallways to avoid any attention from the splicers that littered Olympus Heights.

I arrived safely at the maintenance office in Ryan Amusements and set the backpack down on the mattress. “Picked up a few cans of food,” I reported to Sinclair who opened the bag and stacked the cans in the wooden crate we located, joining the others.

The jars came out next and he smiled. “Where do you find these things?” He joked, setting the jars in the crate as well.

I removed my jacket and sat down on the mattress, resting my back against the cold wall. “I’m just that good,” I smirked, closing my eyes for a few moments. I smiled lightly when I felt Sinclair’s lips press against my own in a chaste kiss before he settled on the mattress as well using my thigh as a pillow.

I didn’t say a word about the Little Sister in the Mercury Suites for the rest of the night - there was no need to cause a stir. It was just a moment of comforting silence that I was going to enjoy and wash away the thought of that little girl with the brute behind her and who she belonged to on the surface. The kidnapping would cause a panic with her parents (if she had any or if they were still alive for that matter) and cause her parents to alert the authorities. Witnesses and stories would spring up; someone would see the connection and someone would eventually follow the trail of disappearances to Rapture. All they had to do was start at the beginning - to when Andrew Ryan (back then he was still Andrei Rayanovksy) disappeared. He was the first after all. It was only a matter of time.

Anyone with a mind could link all the disappearances of the great minds of the world to Rapture if they dug deep enough. Someone had to have left a trace of where they went despite Ryan’s strict orders to not divulge the information to any one under penalty of death. That was what my mother’s forms said at least from what I remember.

My fingers raked deftly through Sinclair’s ever graying hair as he softly snored in his restless slumber, sleep avoiding me for umpteenth time. I found solace in listening to Sinclair breathe, the soft feel of his hair, the weight of his head on my thigh; everything reminding me that this was real and Sinclair was still alive despite my imaginings on several occasions. It didn’t change the fact that we were still down here after 8 years, but it helped a little to deal with the fact.

Over the years, I was showing my own signs of my age and the damage my stress was doing to my body. My face held a few more wrinkles than I would have liked, but at least my hair wasn’t graying yet which was a happy thought. It was still short, having been cut not two days prior and I found that having long hair felt strange when I tried to grow it out years ago. I still had most of my strengths and weaknesses, but the weaknesses were starting to affect my performance against splicers, slowing me down considerably. I was still faster than the average splicer, but the spider splicers were the main problem I had to deal with. Often times I had to retreat during a fight or get struck down trying to hold them off. I didn’t favor dying just yet.

My normal white shirt and trousers were still there; the only clothes that seemed to be around anymore along with a canvas jacket I stole out of a war veteran’s apartment that still had some of the embellishments from his time during the war. It was comfortable enough and sturdy to withstand me crawling through the vents. Even if it got caught on something it wouldn’t tear.

35 years old and still kicking. By now, most women would have been married for about 10-18 years and have had a couple of kids with their husband, but I was not like most women and I was also at the bottom of a damn ocean; waiting to escape or waiting to die. I didn’t know. Sinclair often joked about it, calling me an 'Old Maid’ but I responded that he neither had a wife or a family like a typical business man would. He proposed marriage in response and I punched him in the chest for making a joke about getting married to me.

He knew fully well that I would not sit back and be the typical housewife.

I finally forced myself into a restless sleep as well, my heading lolling against the wall.

For several days, nothing had changed thankfully. The monitors showed no activity outside of our little room but more Little Sisters were spotted. That little girl must have been one of the first that Lamb had abducted. Or the first successful Little Sister. Either way, she was reawakening Tenenbaum’s research to keep her little flock docile by gathering ADAM again. She also was working on an experiment that involved her own daughter: Eleanor Lamb. I couldn’t dig up more on the subject since she didn’t say much to her splicers, nor did she leave her research lying around without a guard with it at all times.

I started to keep track of when Little Sisters would pop up, marking down their descriptions and the days they would wander the halls of Rapture with a Big Daddy over the span of a year. Any that actually said their name I wrote down as well (a few including Elena, Chantel, Mary and Maura). These little girls belonged to someone on the surface and if I could at least help keep them organized, it would make returning them to their families all the more simpler. It was a pathetic feat, but it kept me busy at least after 7 years of doing nothing.

I also watched the Big Sisters that ran around. They served like Big Daddies to the new Little Sisters, except they were Big Daddies on speed. They were smaller, but faster and definitely stronger. The years of splicing turned then insane, their limbs grew long and lanky and gravity didn’t seem to bother them. They were the things of nightmares and horror. Give me a horde of splicers over the Big Sister any day. They took down the Big Daddy and took the Little Sister for themselves. They enforced whatever Lamb decided through a new sort of mental conditioning, Lamb always reciting over the PA system “ _Big Sister is always watching. To steal ADAM is to steal from the Family_.”

The Family: A load of bullshit. Grace had fallen into the trap of this 'Family’ long ago and I dared not seek her out anymore. The Family basically were sacrificial lambs for the slaughter complete with a church in Siren Alley to make the sacrifice more occult-like. “The Child of the Lamb,” 'Father’ Simon Wales preached day in and day out. He was the one who torpedoed that bathysphere that had tried to escape under orders of Lamb. Two mostly sane people left to scream as they watched a torpedo hurl toward them - a cruel end.

There were days when I hid in the shadows, mask over my eyes, watching Lamb walk about with precision with a smile of a snake on her lips. I always wondered made Lamb so enticing to that moron of a woman I babysat for years. I found Sofia Lamb to be exactly like an Egyptian asp coiled up tight and ready to sink her fangs into anyone who tried to step on her. The person would survive the bite physically, but the poison would kill them shortly after.

Sofia Lamb was a bigger threat than I previously imagined for her agenda remained mostly unknown. Ryan and Fontaine were easy: Ryan wanted total control over his city while Fontaine wanted to take it from Ryan and run it like an enterprise. Sofia Lamb’s agenda seemed like she wanted control over Rapture, but her actions did not match those of Ryan and Fontaine. It was her people that took over Rapture, she just guided them.

It drove me mad not knowing what Lamb was planning to do with the decaying city and her army of splicers.

Sinclair had noticed when I came back from another scouting mission through Apollo Square. “Darlin’, don’t stress yourself with ol’ Lamb an’ her collective little farm.”

I threw down Camille’s revolver on the table and leaned back in the wooden chair. A daily task of inspecting, cleaning and repairing had kept the relic alive to take lives another day. “Lamb is the only thing standing between us and getting topside. I must know everything about her if I am to approach her.” I rested my chin on my fist, elbow propped on the table. “But she’s locked up her secrets as tight as the Tower of London. If I could just get a foothold inside…”

“There’s always Gracie.”

“Out of the question. I am still holding up that end of our deal.”

Sinclair held in a sigh of frustration, his businessman bearing still intact even after all these years, but even now I could read him like an open book. “What’s for breakfast?” He asked to break up the tenseness.

“Beans, pep bars, and creme cakes. Take your pick,” I answered with a small smile.

“That’s it? Really?”

“Maybe if you close your eyes, you can imagine its catfish,” I joked tossing him a can from the crate. He shook his head and yanked out his pocket knife to carve open the can.

“You have t'admit: that was the best meal you’ve ever had,” He pointed out.

I only smiled and refrained from reminding him that I had nearly died before I had that meal since I really didn’t want to relive that moment of my messed up life. The ATLAS scar still burned every now and then when the memory tried to creep its way into my dreams and it forever remained wrapped up in a bandage to shield it from my eyes and Sinclair’s.

I carved open my own tin and slurped down the cold beans and gravy that came with it. Nothing was put to waste… Sinclair grimaced at the taste and looked to me. “This is awful.”

I snorted a laugh and finished off the last of my beans. I often forgot how much Sinclair was used to a life of privilege while I lived off of canned beans, if I got it. He dumped the tin in another crate and pulled out a pack of Lucky Stripes that I had snatched from Fontaine’s office years prior. “What’s the occasion for smoking those?” I questioned, disposing of my own tin.

He only smirked and lit one up, puffing happily on the cancer stick. Just felt like it. I stood up and pulled on my jacket. “I’ll be gone for a few hours,” I said, grabbing my pack as well.

“Where to this time?”

“The Adonis.”

“Why there? It’s a resort.”

“No offense, love, but you stink,” I retorted, opening the door. “I’ll see you in a while. It’ll mostly be radio silence.”

“Gotcha.” He gave me one last kiss before shutting the door behind me.

* * *

The Adonis was dark, meaning the generator must have broke down again. The main foyer looked just as busted as I left it previously: The stairs to the upper floor was blown out, the entrance to the locker rooms was blocked with debris from the staircase, and suitcases from vacations cut short. The Securis doors refused to open without power so I crawled through the vents cautiously. There were three Spider Splicer nests throughout the Adonis that moved around depending on their quarrels.

I made it to the pool area with no problems and dropped down just before the doors to the spa areas. The EVE dispenser still worked which I took a few. Not for use, but to toss at splicers when they get too grabby. Another Little Sister darted by carrying what looked like a piece of skin. She ran toward a Vita-Chamber and stuffed the piece of skin into the machine before running off. “What the hell?” I shook my head and continued raiding the place.

Luckily splicers didn’t make personal hygiene important anymore, leaving plenty of soap and toothpaste around. A dreadfully familiar screech ripped through the air making every nerve in my body twitch and every hair stand on end. I ducked behind the nearby counter and prayed hard that she wouldn’t find me. I heard the telltale quick thumping of the Big Sister’s footsteps, low screeching noises permeating the area. She was hunting and if I was none the wiser I would think she was hunting me.

“Eleanor doesn’t like us playing,” a Little Sister finally said from a nearby hidey-hole. “Eleanor says to leave me alone!” Eleanor? Eleanor Lamb? I knew Lamb still had her daughter down here, but from what the Little Sister was saying it sounded like Eleanor had a connection with the Little Ones.

The Big Sister reached into the hidey-hole before the girl could get away and yanked her out. That was where the roughness ended and the gentle maneuvering to place the girl in the basket began. With one last warning shriek to anyone around, she bounded off, the Little Sister’s cries following. I let out the breath I didn’t know I was holding. My legs shook as I got to my feet again, my heart thudded against my rib cage and the scar on my stomach throbbed painfully. I had very few fears in life and most that I had previously feared are dead now but Big Sisters… That was a whole new level of fear. It was forcibly proven that I didn’t stand a chance against them and they were much more than the splicers who were nothing more than Lamb’s attack dogs on steroids.

I had to slap my hand to my mouth to stop the startled scream when a small hand tugged on my sleeve. Another Little Sister stared at me with a smile. “Eleanor remembers you. She needs your help,” She said cocking her head to the side.

I was confused. Eleanor remembered me? We met maybe three times at Grace’s apartment after Lamb was arrested. “What does Eleanor need?”

“She needs her Daddy. She knows how to bring him back but she needs help. She wants you to keep us from Big Sister.” She lost me at Big Sister.

I turned my back on the girl. “Not interested.”

The Sister followed me as I walked off. “Eleanor understands. You’re scared. But she needs him. She wants to see the sun!”

“Eleanor needs to know how to take 'no’ for an answer!” The girl stopped and started to cry, crushing my bleeding heart. “Look, I know she wants Delta back, but you’re asking the wrong person. Me? Go toe to toe with a Big Sister? No thanks. I’ve done that once and lost horribly. I’m sorry, but there is no way.”

The girl stopped crying and looked up at me expectantly. “Eleanor doesn’t want you to fight Big Sister. She wants you to  _distract_ Big Sister while we finish bringing Daddy back.”

I crossed my arms. “What makes you think this will work?”

The little girl mimicked me and crossed her arms. “Eleanor says her momma is after you. Eleanor will help you run!” She seemed so sure of herself.

I sighed and asked, “How long will this take?”

She shrugged. I sighed and nodded. “Fine.” The Little Sister let out a big grin and bounded away, satisfied with the answer. Let Eleanor bring her Big Daddy back since it obviously had something to do with the Little Sisters and the Vita-chambers. All they needed was for me to stand in the open and let Lamb send her goons after me. Shouldn’t be hard at all.


	28. Chapter 28

I regret my life decisions up to this point.

Cat and mouse was an understatement in this cycle of dodging and dashing for my life. "Just ten minutes!" Eleanor had sent along via pneumo. Just ten minutes, my ass. It sounded easy enough, but once again I forgot that I'm not the same 20-something-year-old running from a splicer. No, I'm a 30-something-year-old running from something a lot worse than a splicer.

Running as fast as my legs could carry me, I sprinted up the stairs of the Hamilton, daring myself  _not_  to look behind me. I heard a loud crash -  _Shit, she broke through the window_  - followed by the screech of the Big Sister that nearly made my blood freeze.

Grabbing the door frame, I swung myself into a nearby apartment, slamming the door shut behind me. I glanced around quickly for an escape and discovered a nearby window. I spun around, hearing a crash against the door and exclaimed, "Gonna have to do!" I jerked the window open and straddled the window sill looking for something to put my foot on. The door broke into pieces, showering the room with splinters. "Shit!" I cursed, slipping off the window sill. I landed and fell through an awning which cushioned my fall - thank god my lucky streak hasn't run out yet. I glanced up, seeing the Big Sister try and squeeze out the window. "God dammit, Eleanor, hurry up!" I shouted.

My legs ached as I pushed on, but they couldn't give out now... No they absolutely could not. A bench flew over my head - telekinetically thrown. I swallowed my heart back into my chest and forced myself not to look back. I tripped over a chunk of cement and I hit the ground hard.  _Oh shit oh shit oh shit oh shit!_  I glanced back at the door to the Hamilton and watched the Big Sister slip on the wet floor and slide into the front desk. I scrambled to my feet and thanked God that the Hamilton was leaking all over the place.

I skirted past the fallen train car sitting in the middle of town square, dumping a garbage can in my path which I knew did nothing but it made me feel better.

"This way!" the small voice of a Little Sister called out.

"Finally!" I exclaimed, sprinting down the alleyway she gestured to.

The Little Sister screamed when the Big Sister scooped her up and basically shoved the little girl in the basket on her back. She still wanted me and didn't care who got in the way. There was another Little Sister at the end of the alleyway holding up the vent cover of a cooling duct.

Glancing back once more to see the Big Sister not far behind me - Less than 10 feet? - I fell to my back and straightened out, sliding into the vent and ultimately to safety. The Big Sister slammed against the wall and pounded, trying to physically break the wall down to get at me, but it was in vain. As powerful as she is, she could not break through reinforced steel and concrete walls.

I let my head fall back against the metal of the air vent, finally letting my ragged breathing be heard. "Let me go!" The Little Sister who held open the vent called out. I could almost picture her fighting against the Big Sister, the other one still in the basket banging against the helmet.

I didn't move until I heard the heavy thuds of the Big Sister's footsteps leave the area. "I'm getting too old for this," I said aloud to no one in particular.

" _You alright, darlin'_?"

"Is Eleanor almost done with this yet?" I asked, glancing down at the radio that miraculously survived my running even though it was attached to my hip. "I don't know how much more of this I can take. She almost had me in the Hamilton."

" _I don't know. Can't be much longer now._ "

I sighed heavily and contorted until I could turn around in the vent, not daring to leave the safety of the vents in case the Big Sister was still lurking nearby - waiting. I had to remind myself - Eleanor is trying to escape Rapture and if that meant I had to play the worm on a hook, then by all means.

I exited outside of Neptune's Bounty and collected my bag from its hiding spot. I quickly checked its contents and slung it over my shoulder.

Neptune's Bounty sure hasn't changed much. Some of the bodies Jack left in his wake still littered the floor - frozen from the cold temperatures. I swallowed down my tears as the memory of Patrick, the sub, and the explosion that killed him came to mind. "God dammit..." I sighed heavily, saddened from the memories. The only thing that cheered me up anymore was the fact that I made Fontaine pay for what he did.

I walked quickly from the fishing port, heart heavy and an ache in my joints from sprint-for-my-life I just completed. Until Eleanor contacted me again, I could relax a little and do what I've normally done for 8 years. I didn't quite understand how she could communicate with the Sisters, but it seemed handy since she was always under lock and key by Sofia. Using the Sisters to get her goals accomplished would have to do in this case, I sure would use them if I was in her shoes.

I returned to Sinclair, tired and sore. "Come on, darlin'," He said, taking the pack from my shoulder and gesturing to the mattress. "Take off your shirt and get on your stomach."

I cocked an eyebrow at him. When he put his hands on his hips, I unbuttoned my shirt and threw it on the stack of clothes piling up. Laying on my stomach, I glanced over to Sinclair who double checked the door to make sure it was locked.

Satisfied, he walked back over to the mattress and slowly crawled until he was straddling my hips. I let out a moan when his hands started to knead and press against my skin, working my muscles and aching joints with skilled hands. Little by little, the knots and aches started to sooth away. He ran his hands from my lower back, to my shoulders, down my arms and over my shoulder blades, touching, kneading and massaging.

I sighed when he finally finished, settling into the mattress next to me. "Feel better?" He asked, lightly running his fingers over the skin of my back. I smiled and snuggled into his side, resting my head on his chest.

"Much better." His smile got wider at the response. "I feel so spoiled."

He chuckled. "Of course you're spoiled. I'd be a terrible gentleman leavin' my girl feelin' neglected an' sore." He pulled me tight against him, squeezing once before relaxing. "If I stop spoilin' you, then start to worry."

I laughed at that. "No need for dramatics."

He wiggled his eyebrows before reaching for the blanket, pulling it up and over us. "Night, darlin'," He whispered, kissing my forehead.

I touched his jaw and smiled. "Maybe I don't want to sleep yet." He smiled, catching my hint.

* * *

I wandered Medical Pavilion, sticking to the shadows for the most part and looking for medical supplies. Eleanor hadn't contacted me in nearly two weeks which got me curious, but there was no way for me to get into contact with her.

I had enough aspirin to put someone in a coma, bandages, and antiseptic, but there was one more thing I needed. There was only one place I would find it though: Steinman's old office. I couldn't stop a manic grin from crossing my face, knowing that he's been rotting down here for years after Jack had killed him. My own paranoia almost had me imagining Steinman emerging from the darkness with a scalpel ready to cut me to ribbons. I shouldered open the door, catching the musty whiff of an unused office. The papers on the desk were still scribbled insanely with red pen.

The medical cabinet not far from the desk became my target. I set my crossbow on the desk and took a few steps toward the medical cabinet. I broke the glass and rummaged through the different labeled bottles until I came across the one I was looking for: potassium chlorate. Not far from it was petroleum jelly. "Lamb's in for a pleasant surprise," I smirked stuffing both containers in my pack.

I was never one for explosives, but if things proved to be out of my control to the point where Sinclair and myself could die I was going to make sure Lamb never saw the light of the sun. I was glad I took the time to read those science books Sinclair scrounged up for some reading material.

_"Attention! Augustus Sinclair has been spotted in Pauper's Drop. All activities of the Family are to be ceased until he is apprehended."_

"Shit!" I shouted, spinning on my heel.

I dumped the bag though an opening to one of the safe spots me and Sinclair established before continuing on to Pauper's Drop. I didn't know what the hell Sinclair was doing, but there was no way I'd let Lamb get to him first. I could hear the splicers rattling away in different sections of the vents, making their way to Pauper's Drop under Lamb's orders.

"Augustus, what the hell are you doing?!" I hissed into the radio, leaping into the vents. There was only static in return.

I dropped down on top of King Pawn and hid behind the sign, looking for any sign that Sinclair was there - A mark on a window, anything that indicated where Sinclair was hiding, but there was nothing. "What the...?" I questioned, sliding down from the roof to the ground. Even if he was compromised, he'd at least leave a little mention of where he was. This wasn't our first evasion of Lamb and it sure as hell wasn't going to be the last. I reached down and tapped on the radio, trying to get a signal. "Where are you?"

I jumped when my radio crackled and Sinclair's voice came through. _"Jamie, where are you?"_

I snatched the radio off my waist. "Pauper's Drop. Where are you hiding?"

_"Get outta there!"_

I sighed heavily and said out loud, "It's a trap."

Before I could react, splicers of all classes surrounded me - meat hooks, plasmids and guns aimed in my direction. Fighting out of this one was not an option at this point, not without the risk of dying. I chuckled lightly to myself in mild disbelief, "You finally got me, huh? Doctor Lamb?"

Lamb stepped through the group, no weapon seen aside from the satchel she carried. How humiliating - to be taken down by an unarmed woman without so much as a drop of blood drawn. "I finally got you," She seemed to agree with me, smug in her own right. "You avoided the Big Sisters more expertly than I imagined. You're a genius in your own right," She seemed to applaud me.

"I try my best."

"You were an enigma to me. Grace could only give me so many details because you kept her in the dark as well." She paced the floor in front of me, gazing at me like a prize that she had won. "It took me a while, but eventually I connected the dots. There were whispers of an unknown woman with Sinclair." Her voice was really grating on my nerves. She didn't talk to me, she talked down to me, like I was something less than human. I can't believe she wonders why I don't like her. "You were there during our liberation of Persephone, you were the one who helped him escape. You were there when Fontaine was taken down allowing the son of Ryan to escape Rapture, but you came back for Sinclair. That is the only thing that confuses me: Why would you come back for Sinclair?"

Before I could answer with a pointed  _Piss off_ , a pipe was brought across the back of my knees, forcing me to the ground. My arms were jerked hard behind me, almost pulling them out of their sockets. "My reasons are my own," I growled out at her, glaring up at her in my own defiance.

"All these years and you still have problems with trusting people. I can tell your attitude has changed, but it hasn't toward me."

"Never." The splicer holding my arms reached up and jerked my hair back, making me grunt. Sofia gestured for the splicer to force me to my feet, which they did. "Tug a little harder, I still have hair for you to yank out," I hissed which only made the splicer tug on my hair again.

Wordlessly, Lamb walked back through the throng of splicers. The grip on my arms tightened to the point of bruising and they lifted me to my feet, forcing me to walk with them. "I'm am not the enemy, Miss Donovan," Lamb spoke calmly. "Only in your mind."

"' _Only in my mind'._ Are you going to treat me as your prisoner or your patient?"

"Both. You are a danger to not only the Family, but to yourself. You show the characteristics of someone who is a psychopath, though not to the extent that many others did. You're a survivalist. You don't care who you step on, as long as you come out on top to survive. That is one of the most dangerous types of psychopaths. You're the kind that kills, reasoning that it was you or them." I rolled my eyes as she tried to get into my head. "Despite your heavy survival instincts: you would rush into an obvious trap if you thought for a second that Sinclair was in danger."

I groaned, "Oh for the love of- Would you just knock me out already?"

"You're in love with Sinclair. A creature who I never thought capable of love," She continued as we neared the Metro Station.  _Shit._ "Does Sinclair love you back?" I rolled my eyes for what must have been the fiftieth time.

"Why are you so concerned about my love life?" I drawled out, bored of the endless questioning.

Please just hit me really hard. I really did not need some therapist tearing into everything I hold private. She's just as delusional as the rest and maybe at the beginning she was aware of it, but she's told the story so many times that even she started to believe it. Lamb believed in a Utopia while I knew it was impossible. Now she was trying to rattle me and get into my head - she'd have a long road ahead of her.

There was another group of splicers waiting for us, all standing behind none other than Grace Holloway. Her jaw dropped slightly when she saw me and took a step forward, but Lamb held her hand up. "Grace," She spoke calmly, "This is not the time for sentiment."

Grace frowned heavily and glanced at Lamb with some resentment. Glad to know she still cares. She shook her head and walked over to the control panel, inserting her genetic key to activate the train car. "Return to your duties," Lamb ordered.

She gestured for the two splicers holding me to follow her on to the train while the others dispersed. They forced me into a seat close to Lamb. They took seats in the back of the train, glowering and daring me to make a move. The train car jerked forward and chugged on into the underwater parts of the tracks. Fish darted from the car before resuming their idle swimming and I suddenly felt nervous hearing the train car groan from poor maintenance. Lamb seemed unaffected by the groaning and was focused on the view outside the train car.

I swallowed hard when I could see the Fontaine building looming over everything else. Why did she even want me alive? Why did she even  _want_  me? Everyone else she sends the Big Sister after get horribly killed and yet the Big Sisters never tried to set me on fire like I know they could. They try to incapacitate me, break a bone, but never tried to kill me. I glanced quickly in Lamb's direction - she had taken out one of her psychology books to read.

The train rolled into the station where yet another group of splicers were waiting for us. My eyes widened when I laid eyes on what appeared to be Dr. Gil Alexander suffering from severe splicing and the once small, timid man was covered what looked like just pure ADAM bulges. His overall body shape was affected by whatever cocktail he was taking. Alexander never spliced before...

I glared at Lamb who held her same old serene smile that was reserved only for her flock. My  _friendly_ splicers shoved me forward; marching me through the assembly of different classes of splicers (even a few Brutes).

The room I was locked in was an alarmingly clean gray walled room for a city falling to ruin. The mattress was the only thing that indicated how shitty Rapture was from the gray room since it smelled like fish. Other than the mattress, there was no other furniture. No chance of allowing me to make a shiv.

I felt around where the door was and found it almost completely sealed - no handle, no lock, not even a door hinge. They even made me take off my clothes to avoid me concealing a weapon, forcing me to wear a flimsy hospital gown. Lamb certainly thought through my prison.

Lamb entered on the 3rd day of my imprisonment with a notebook tucked in the crook of her arm and an Accu-Vox. She closed the door gently and stared at me, the clipboard making her way to her hands along with a pen. "Good evening, Miss Donovan," Sofia greeted, her tone monotonous to disguise any contempt she had for me.

"Lamb." I leaned against the wall on my mattress, crossing my arms.

The door was opened again and a splicer came in with a chair, setting it directly in front of the door - Blocking my exit. Lamb took her seat and crossed her knees with the sophistication of the well-mannered British woman she was. "What is this? One of your therapy sessions, doc?" I questioned keeping my tone indifferent.

"It is as you want it to be," She answered, her pen writing something down on the notebook. I copied her hands movements to pick out a few words: Defensive. Tempered.

"Do your worst."

"I'm going to ask you some questions. Feel free to answer them as you please or simply pass. This is just a preliminary session," She laid down the ground rules. A therapy session? Really? "I understand that you are in the employment of Augustus Sinclair. Can you explain how that came to be?"

"Pass."

She scribbled on her clipboard and this time I couldn't catch what she wrote. "Grace tells me that you were young when you came to Rapture. How old were you?"

I shrugged and answered, "Why don't you ask Grace?"

"Because Grace feels that she has betrayed you. She will not openly state so, but her communications with me are now brief instead of the long talks we used to have. You have affected her deeply. Did you come with your parents?"

"Pass."

Again, she scribbled something down. Family. Problems. "I'm curious about something," Lamb spoke evenly, her gaze never leaving mine. "Why you're defensive when I ask questions about Sinclair."

"Because it's none of your fucking business," I growled. "I'm done with the questions, doc. You can try all you want to get into my head, but I've been through hell and back. A damn therapist isn't going to rattle me."

Lamb perused her lips and set her pen down on her notebook. "Very well." She set the notebook on the ground and set the Accu-Vox in her lap. I looked the Accu-Vox over and noticed something odd about it. There was a crusty dusting along the metal casing, brown in color and it took me a moment to realize that it was dried blood. Like it had been there for years. "I'm going to play something for you and you're going to tell me what occurred with it."

Her manicured nail pressed play.  _"Tell us where Atlas is and this will be over quickly."_  My blood froze solid in my veins. I knew that voice. The voice that has haunted me for years, hounding my sleep, waking up in the middle of the night and feeling my arms to make sure there was no blood, that the ATLAS scar wasn't fresh. Sullivan. It was my interrogation tape…

" _I don't know!"_ God if only I knew what I did now. I could have answered it was Fontaine, that Atlas was a fake, he wasn't an Irishman, he was bouncing from poor house to poor house, but hung around in Hestia a lot.

I flinched when I screamed on the recording, screaming that I didn't know and begging him to stop. I knew when I screamed like that: The beginning of the ATLAS carving. I don't remember him asking me what I wanted carved into the other arm, but Jesus Christ, I didn't even realize how badly I was screaming. The phantom pain of that evening buried under my skin, acting like the cuts were fresh even when they had long since healed. The ATLAS scar burned deep into my arm.

"Turn it off," I croaked out the order, but it wasn't strong at all. I was reduced to a shivering girl again. The girl on the tape who screamed for mercy, screamed for God, screamed for anyone to hear her and save her. I winced again as another scream crackled from the old speakers. "Shut it off!"

She hit the stop button in a small amount of mercy. "Where the fuck did you find that?" I demanded standing up sharply.

"Does it matter where I found it? What occurred here?"

"Well, what the hell does it sound like?!" I carded a hand through my hair, staring at the Accu-Vox like it was Sullivan himself.

"You tell me."

"Oh really? Really? What do you want me to say? To come to terms with what happened to me? I've had years to come terms with what happened to me."

"Then tell me exactly what happened."

I leaned until I was within close proximity. "Pass." I sat down on the mattress.

She gathered up her items and left with a small nod of her head. I leaned against the wall and cradled my head in my hands, unable to stop crying.  _Shit_... I thought I was finally going to be okay. Lamb could have done anything to me and it wouldn't have made as much of an impact as this did. How did she even know it was mine? If I remember correctly, the session was started off with me telling Sullivan to 'piss off'. He then started the tape with, "Interrogation of 'Piss Off', follower of Atlas."

Fuck, did she make Grace listen to it? Grace knew my voice. Lamb did not. Jesus fucking Christ, she made Grace listen to it.

For a week my only visitors was Lamb and a few different splicers, but when the splicers came, they would only drop off poorly made food. When Lamb was there, she wouldn't utter a word about Sinclair, asking me questions about my life before Rapture and of course about the torture which made it impossible to sleep at night. Lamb seemed to know how I ticked about as much as I did her. She was studying me like I was studying her. I gave her the cold shoulder most of the time, but a few times I would throw her a few half-assed answers to keep her coming because the more she came, the more that door was opened and the more I could discover where I was exactly. I already established I was in the Fontaine Futuristic Labs from the faint sign in the background.

I wanted to set that damn Accu-Vox on fire. It made me miss Sinclair. I wanted to curl up in his arms, inhale his spicy cologne for relief, and clutch the back of his shirt like he was going to disappear. I wanted him to whisper soothing words in my ear, kiss my forehead, my cheeks, my lips to settle my breathing, to tuck my head under his chin until I fell asleep.

My attention went to the door when I heard a key get inserted. I sat crossed legged in the middle of the mattress, watching for any threat to come. The door opened at the perfect speed, not too fast to show anger, or too slow to show caution. Lamb still thought of me as no threat to her which both pissed me off and made me admire her courage. What I didn't expect was for Dr. Gil Alexander to be behind her as well, but something seemed off about him. He was showing signs of extreme gene splicing, but not in any combative plasmids of physical enhancements. More like mental enhancements. What was Lamb doing to Alexander?

Gil approached me, his steps unsteady and he dropped down to his knees next to me. He grabbed my wrist and started to examine me from top to bottom. "What do you think, Dr. Alexander?" Lamb questioned, cupping her elbows. "Will she work?"

"She's s-strong and lithe. Even with her age, her b-body is in exceptional condition. She may be able to a-adapt to the procedure." He even sounded severely spliced with a cocktail of different things that I couldn't even identify even working with Sinclair.

"Procedure?" I questioned furrowing my eyebrows. "What procedure?"

"I have need of you. For our Utopia to succeed, I need a vessel for those dreams to become reality. The vessel needs a protector. Do what you must, Dr. Alexander," She smiled and exited the room. A few more splicers entered with a blunt weapon.

"Dr. Alexander," I said to gain his attention. "What's gonna happen to me?"

He didn't answer - only produced a needle and ordered the splicers accompanying him to hold me down. I struggled feebly, which did nothing to stop Alexander from stabbing the needle into my upper arm.

They left me in the room until the effects of the anesthesia knocked me out, which didn't take long.

I awoke several hours later, noting that I was in a completely different room, sore as hell and my vision blurry. I tried to sit up and touch my head, but my hand was restrained and I couldn't sit up at all. I looked down and noted that my hands were bound to a table and that I was as naked as the day I was born. Along with a new scar traveling from my rib-cage to my naval that looked fresh, but was healed meaning ADAM was used. I looked around for anything else; surgical tools, ADAM vats and what looked like a container to hold a creature inside.

I stiffened when I felt  _something_  move inside my stomach. I stared at my stomach in horror when it became clear  _what_  was inside me and the procedure Lamb was talking about: She implanted me with an ADAM Slug.

I screamed.


	29. Chapter 29

I writhed in my bed, the straps keeping me immobilized while the slug 'settle in' as Gil described it. He explained to Lamb that it was would take a few days before I was adapted to the damn slug and the effects of the ADAM would start to take hold. It would be slow, but with added ADAM the process could speed up (which Lamb thankfully said no to since the 'protector must be fully integrated with the slug'). I could feel the wretched thing twisting, biting, nibbling on the lining of my stomach. I drove me mad. I wanted to claw my skin apart and tear violently at the slug to get to the damn thing out. It writhed and twisted and twitched against my stomach, fighting against my heaving breaths to try and quell the little parasite, but it persisted.

"AGHHH!" I screamed as it gave a rather nasty bite to the lining of my stomach. "FUCK!" My jaw clenched involuntarily, my teeth grinding under the pressure.

"Is it giving you trouble?" Lamb questioned.

I didn't even hear her enter the room, but I knew exactly what to say to her, "Piss off!"

I continued to writhe, but my back was starting to ache from the strain. The leather strapping bit into my wrists, ankles and neck. I was still as naked as the day I was born. I had made a comment before about being granted clothing, but she had retorted, "Why should you be ashamed of the body you possess for you were willing to show it to Sinclair no doubt, judging from the mark he left on your collarbone." It was an indirect way to call me a whore. How I desperately wanted to punch her in the fucking mouth.

Gil Alexander was the next to enter the room, his twitching worse than before. His body was showing more serious signs of deformation than before; his head was beginning to enlarge and his body was starting to bloat up like a balloon. I stared at him and wondered why he would subject himself to this treatment: he was a brilliant man who didn't deserve this in the slightest. I pitied him. He performed an examination of me, using an ultra-sound to check on the progress of the slug. He made a few notes shakily on a clipboard and left after giving a brief summary of his initial examinations and mentioning that I was ready to begin splicing with basic plasmids.

"You're almost there," She commented with a smirk. "Soon, the Daughter of the People will be thoroughly protected."

"Protected from who?" I growled. "You have every splicer in Rapture in your pocket."

She smiled and paced around my bed. "A true Utopia is dream that is becoming reality. But even I am no fool to dangerous people who want to destroy it. It has come to my attention that my daughter's former Big Daddy has been resurrected. I'm not sure how, but I aim to discover the means."

"So you're scared of one Big Daddy."

"Subject Delta will stop at nothing to retrieve Eleanor. And he has help. We've confirmed that Brigid Tenenbaum is in the city once again with a companion we haven't identified yet."

I looked sharply at her, my memory momentarily flashing back to that moment when Tenenbaum boarded the bathysphere with Jack, Camille and about 6 former Little Sisters. How did she get here? _Why_ was she here? The answer was obvious though: Tenenbaum worked hard to cure the Little Sisters of their ADAM slugs and since the little girls were from the Surface, Tenenbaum would have seen the same patterns to establish where the girls were being taken and for what. Her work was being used again even though she tried hard to destroy it.

How long was I trapped here? I thought it was only for about two weeks. If Tenenbaum was here, who else was here? There was no way that she'd come down here alone or without getting into contact with Sinclair. Was Jack here? God forbid if Camille was here, I'd kill her myself. I had to get out of here. I had to find Tenenbaum. I had to get back to Sinclair. I had to _find_ Sinclair since I know he'd be on the move if he and Tenenbaum were working together.

Sofia left after a few minutes and a splicer came in with my daily meal and change out the drugs keeping me docile. Sofia returned not an hour later with a jar of some plasmid. "Do you know what this is?"

"A plasmid?" I looked at the bottle like it was the devil.

"Correct. Dr. Alexander explained that you are ready to begin the final stages before the slug takes full effect."

"You hate Sinclair and yet you are willingly using his products on me. Hypocrite," I growled at her, pulling on the restraints.

"You are to protect the Daughter of the people," Sofia repeated. Taking a sterilized needle from a cupboard and stabbing it into the bottle. My jaw clenched so hard that my molars ached in protest to the pressure.

The needle was pricked into the tube pumping me with drugs, the red blending in with the clear liquid. The effect was almost instantaneous. My veins felt like they were engulfed in flames, every molecule in my body tearing apart. Everything locked up from the agony that I couldn't even scream, couldn't move, couldn't think. All there was, was the pain and suffering and _agony_ as the poison flooded my veins.

I blacked out again.

When I awoke what seemed like hours later, I was still on the table, but in a different room that had television screens all over; the screens showing nothing but static. " _Good, you're awake._ " Lamb.

"Where am I?" I looked around as much the leather strap around my neck would let me. The door was heavy duty - sound proof.

" _Will you protect the Family_?"

I blinked and scoffed, "What are you talking about? Hell no-" I was cut off as the TV's sound turned on, letting out a deafening screech sound which hurt my ears. "What the fuck?!"

The sound was shut off and Lamb asked again, " _Will you protect the Family_?"

"Fuck. You." The screeching sound was turned back.

This went on for three hours. At some point, I had blacked out from the massive migraine and ringing ears. Lamb woke me again with another blast of the screeching noise. I hadn't seen hide nor hair of Alexander during that time which made me curious, but the curiousness went away the moment I was locked in the TV room with the screeching noise being played if I didn't answer correctly. I was running out of ways to tell Lamb to go fuck herself every time she asked if I was going to protect the Family.

4 days... At least I think it was 4 days. Between pumping me full of gene boosts to the _fucking screeching_ that drove me to the brink of madness, I had lost track of the days. Maybe it had only been 4 _hours._ That was not something I wanted to hear. "Your torture has only been going on for 4 hours and already you're about to break." I struggled to focus my mind on anything other than Lamb and her sick torture. I struggled to focus on Sinclair, Camille, Patrick, fucking _Fontaine_ , anything but this. I think that was the worst thing of all: That I was struggling to focus. I was losing grip of the control I had over my own mind just like the Splicers had.

It would be a very, very cold day in Hell when that happened.

Lamb continued her 'therapy' sessions with me after each time I visited the TV room - testing to see how willing I'd be to answer her questions. She repeatedly asked about Sinclair, occasionally asked about my family and was fixated on the fact that I knew 'the Son of Ryan'. Jack was none of her business since he _should_ be living a happy life on the Surface. Even if I was willing to tell her about Jack, it's not like I knew exactly what they did to him. I'm not a scientist. That was all Dr. Suchong and Tenenbaum, but Suchong's dead and Tenenbaum is on the Surface as well.

When she would end her sessions, she would un-cinch my IV drip and let the cheap drugs knock me out again.

Fate, though, was sometimes a forgiving mistress.

Groggy, I awoke and realized there was a splicer in the room undoing my binds for whatever reason. I couldn't think straight. She undid my wrists first… First mistake on her part. The moment my ankles were free, my right leg shot up and hooked around the neck of the splicer. Using my new-found burst of adrenaline, I smashed her head against the metal bars surrounding my bed. I heard something crack and she fell limp.

My hands scratched at the leather strap around my neck, hastily undoing the metal buckle. My attention then turned to the tubes and wires attached to my arms and carefully ripped them out one by one, wincing at each. The moment my feet touched the cold as ice floor, my legs gave out. I grunted as I crumpled to the floor, cursing my weakness from the drugs being pumped into my body. I tore the blood-stained blouse from the splicers body and wrapped it as tight as I could around me to cover up my nakedness.

I unlocked the door slowly, opening the door just as slow. It was quiet for the most part with no one posted outside the door. My memory flew around to the air ducts that let out into Fontaine Futuristics, but I had no idea where exactly I was in the place. I didn't know where my stuff was, my crossbow, anything. Never had I felt so blind or dealt with so many black boxes with an escape attempt. I chose a direction and sprinted, glancing at the ceiling at different intervals. Just one vent. Just one and I would know where I was. The chalk marks in the vents should still be there from my previous activities and they would at least guide me to a point where I could get myself anywhere in Rapture to escape this place.

But I had to find my stuff; My crossbow, my clothes, my radio and my ammunition. The dirt and grim of the floor made sprinting nearly impossible, but I had to keep going. Who knew how long it would take for them to realize I escaped, for Lamb to sound the alarm and for them to be hot on my heels. I slammed my back into a wall when I heard voices coming from the hallway I was about to enter. Peering around the corner, I counted 3 splicers gathered around a burning barrel muttering something about someone living it up topside with some brats. I figured they were talking about Jack since Lamb seemed to idolize Jack, but the Jack that was still ignorant and under the mental conditioning of WYK. She'd asked me a few times about it, but I told her 'pass'.

Another splicer ran up and shouted, "The bitch escaped!" They growled in both anger and frustration and bolted in the direction I just came. Well, they know I'm gone. I brushed my bangs out of my eyes and looked down the hallway once more to see if the coast was clear. I forced my legs to move, the drugs slowing me down considerably. My vision was starting to blur and the slug slithered around against the lining of my stomach.

I stopped outside of what looked like a security office, my head landing in my left hand to quell the dizzy spell. "What the hell?" I groaned, leaning against the wall. The dizzy spell subsided and I looked down at the thin scar that showed where exactly that stupid slug was. "What have you done to me, Lamb?"

I shouldered my way into the security office and locked the door behind me. I looked around and smiled when I spotted my jacket slung over the back of the chair, my crossbow in a crate at the back of the room. I slipped my jacket on over the blouse thankful that the jacket fell to my mid thighs and walked over to the crate. My crossbow was there along with a few boxes of ammo, but otherwise I didn't have any other articles of clothing or my radio.

I picked up my crossbow, feeling comfort with the familiar weight. I was just one step closer to escaping and then the alarms went off. "Shite," I cursed, looking up at the vent in the security office. Time to go.

I pulled the chair over to the vent and pushed the grate open, crawling inside. The cold metal bit into my thighs as I moved, careful not to give my whereabouts to any splicers that were below me. I was home once again in a world I was familiar with. I glanced back at the sound of numerous grates being thrown open. Even home was a dangerous place to be.

I crawled faster, minding how much noise I made, but risked a bit of it: had to get out of the vents where I can hide better and I had to find Sinclair. Find him and get the hell out of Dodge. I stopped after what seemed like forever over the office of some P.I in Pauper's Drop whose name escapes me and I tore the grate off, dropping down on top of the P.I's desk. I heard the scraping of metal hooks on the metal walls of the vents and the cackling of the splicers giving chase. They were almost caught up.

Ducking under the desk, I readied my crossbow at the opening, holding my breath and every muscle in my body tensing. I was not going back to Lamb. The dizziness was returning and the slug moved in protest of my movements which I promptly ignored, willing away the dizziness. Two splicers dropped down, pacing around the office looking for where I might've gone. The floor vibrated at distinct intervals; something big was approaching the room and it didn't take a genius to realize it was a Big Daddy.

"It's the metal daddy!" A female splicer shouted to her companion firing off a few shots at the Big Daddy who entered the office. The Big Daddy gave a roar and charged in, rivet gun going off. The dying screams of the splicers were the last thing I heard before the Big Daddy thudded off. _"Find that camera, sport,"_ a familiar voice came out of the Big Daddy's helmet, making my eyes open wide.

"Augustus…" I whispered with a smile, slowly crawling out from under the desk. I took a few steps toward the door and shouted, "Wait!" The thudding stopped and I stumbled to the doorway. The Big Daddy was not a Bouncer or a Rosie; no, it was an Alpha series, but he wasn't discharging plasmids or screaming like the others were. He was quite… docile for lack of a better word. Like the monster behind the mask was freed of his mental conditioning.

" _Jamie?"_ The voice came from the Big Daddy's helmet. _"Easy, big fella, she's a friend."_

"Augustus!" I smiled stepping up to the Big Daddy. "I'm glad you're okay."

" _Me too, darlin'. Me too. Listen, I'm on a train car not far from where you are. Have Subject Delta here escort you."_

"I think I can get there on my own," I smiled, happy to hear his voice again. "It'll feel good to stretch my legs." I looked Subject Delta over once more. I hardly could recognize him it was such a long time; even harder to remember that this was Johnny Topside. "I'm sorry, Johnny," I muttered, earning a low groan from Delta. I turned from him and left for the train station.

When I arrived at the station, I smiled at the Atlantic Express car that held Sinclair and sprinted for it, leaping the stairs on to the platform and into the open doors to the main car. I pounded on the door and waited anxiously for it to open.

Sinclair opened the doors and caught me as I threw my arms around his neck, dropping my crossbow. "Jamie…" He muttered into my neck, holding me tightly. He spread and smoothed his hand down my hair.

Never had I felt more relieved until his mouth crushed against my own; relief, love and desperation all mixed in to one kiss. He huddled me inside the tram car, sitting me down on one of the many empty seats. "I thought I'd never see you again, darlin'," He said kneeling in front of me.

"It's been pure hell, Augustus. But I'm out. I'm back," I reassured. "Now, do you have some pants?"

He glanced down at my bare legs and chuckled. "I'm sure we can find something." He gestured around the some discarded suitcases and said, "Take your pick."

I got up and knelt down next to a trunk that belonged to a woman judging from the articles inside, pulling on a pair of trousers located inside. I stripped off the bloodstained blouse and replaced it with a loose fitting polo shirt. I pulled my jacket back on and made my way back to Sinclair who had watched me get dressed. "What happened? You've been trapped by ol' Lamb for three and a half weeks."

"Three and a half weeks? It's really been that long?" I questioned, sitting down before my legs gave out again.

"Yeah. But you haven't answered my question. What did Lamb do you you, darlin'?" He asked again, taking a seat next to me.

I looked up at Sinclair, desperate to tell him what had happened, but I was tongue-tied. I was a freak now, a freak with an ADAM slug embedded in the lining of her stomach. I was ashamed that I even got caught, that Lamb was able to do these things to me. "I… I don't know what she did to me. I woke up feeling my veins were on fire and I ended up killing a splicer undoing my binds to change my bandages. I escaped after that." I didn't want to lie to him, but I couldn't tell him just yet. Not until I knew what was going to happen to me, if I was something harmless or a ticking time bomb.

I suppose I didn't really lie, just didn't tell the full truth. My veins were on fire when she injected me with the _Incinerate!_ plasmid and I did wake up to a splicer undoing my binds, but the rest was still a secret. I still couldn't quite wrap my head around what happened to fully explain what happened and I needed to figure out exactly what damage was done to my mind. There was an itch I couldn't quite scratch.

Sinclair didn't press the issue thankfully and wrapped his arms around me, laying back on the seats. I laid my head on his chest and listened blissfully to his heartbeat, allowing sleep to come to my person. I was so tired and sleeping because I blacked out was not a good way to sleep. Unhealthy even. To just lay my head down and sleep on my own free will was bliss and being wrapped up in Sinclair's arms was pure heaven. I never wanted to lose Sinclair ever again. My muscles gave a twitch and the ADAM slug writhed disturbed my sleep. I glared down at my stomach. So much for a restful sleep…

I buried my face in Sinclair's shirt, blocking out the feeling of the damn slug and the fire coursing through my veins as best as I could. God dammit I was going to get some sleep in the arms of the man I loved even if it killed me.

* * *

I only slept for a few hours until I was awoken by Sinclair shaking my shoulder. "Darlin', Delta has found Gracie," He said, gesturing to the monitor he had set up to be able to view what Delta was doing through his helmet.

I shot to the screen and gazed at the woman through the window of the door. Grace Holloway was still as beautiful as ever, sitting in a chair smoking a fish egg cigarette in one of her show dresses; yellow with a pale yellow scarf wrapped around her neck and her favorite hat. _"I know what'cha here for."_ She took the genetic key from her pocket and deposited it on the desk. _"Go on, take it. I won't have you touchin' me."_ She stood up and grabbed her cane to help her balance. _"Dr. Lamb trusted me to care for her child. And I tried. But baby Eleanor disappeared. And then one day, I see her walkin' with you. Lookin' wrong. And when I tried to hold her, you knocked me down - broke my jaw. So I'm ready, baby snatcher."_ I bit my knuckle. _"Come in and finish the job."_

"No!" I gasped, my hands grabbing the case of the monitor. "Grace…"

Sinclair picked up the radio and said, "Your call, friend. Gracie's unarmed for what it's worth."

I took the radio. "Listen, Delta, Grace is not a bad person. She's just confused and twisted by Lamb's ideals, but she's not stupid. Please don't hurt her," I begged for the woman's life. "She's been alone for a long time and that is mostly my fault. She's been alone long enough for Lamb to plant her ideas. Grace will see reason and all you have to do is show that you are not the monster she makes you out to be."

I looked to the screen again, watching Delta pick up the key from the desk and turn his back on Grace, sparing her life. " _To hell with you then!"_

"You're a bigger man than I am, chief. Maybe next time she'll think twice about pointin' fingers before all the facts are in. Now let's be on our way: Eleanor's waitin'."

"Thank you, Delta," I said with a smile of relief. "Thank you."

Grace didn't deserve to die. No, she deserved her life away from Lamb, one that Delta just granted. It worked just the way I saw it: Grace saw that Delta wasn't just a monster, but someone who could think and make choices. She went as far as to loan Delta some of her security bots that she had received from a friend. Delta picked off what splicers came to provide resistance with the help of Grace's security bots and boarded the front of the train after shutting off the lock down. I leaned against Sinclair's side when the train jerked into motion and closed my eyes again. The train car creaked and groaned, but traveled underwater with no hitches.

Until the torpedo blew apart the front car, taking Delta with it.

I couldn't hold back the scream as we were launched from our seats on to the floor. Holes were punched in the hull of the car. I scrambled to my feet while Sinclair was recovering from hitting his head against a metal pole and struggled to hold the doors shut. I snatched up a suitcase and wedged it between the door and the closest seat, keeping the doors successfully closed. "Shit..." I cursed, picking up more articles of clothing to stuff into the holes in the train car walls.

The car eventually ended up in the station of Dionysus Park. The car had, for the most part, stopped leaking in water, but the car was leaking air.

Delta had to wake up soon or we were going to suffocate.

"Jamie? You're bleedin'," Sinclair pointed out.

My hand went to my forehead, then the dizziness set in. "Shit," I said before I passed out.


	30. Chapter 30

_The wind blew through the leaves of the apple trees, enticing the passerby with the sweet smell of apples; Braeburns, Galas, Boleros, and Granny Smiths to name a few of the apples growing along the branches. A child's giggling and a dog's barking echoed around the large orchard giving off the sense of bliss and peace in the mid-afternoon sun, partly cloudy. I knew this orchard well, having run the rows of apple trees almost every day for hours, but the child I barely recognized. The child, no older than 7, was me in every sense, but she wasn't me. She had my dark brown hair, my blue eyes, even my smile (a smile I hadn't seen on myself in a long time). The bloodhound following behind the gleeful child was coming up on old age, used mostly to scare off coons and rodents from eating at the apples._

_This child was me and wasn't me for I stood watching this child, how could she be me? "Jamie!" An elderly woman called out, a basket filled with apples balanced on her hip. "Come back inside! Dinner is ready!" She had a kind face that came with someone who clearly was a grandmother. Her red hair lined heavily with gray to show her age along with the wrinkles around her eyes and her mouth splashed with an uncountable number of freckles. Her eyes were just as blue as my own, a trait passed down to her son and then to her granddaughter. Her name is Alice Donovan and she is my grandmother. She is that little girl's grandmother - A woman who spent 30+ years married to Garrett Donovan and was still happily married to the point where they acted like newlyweds._

_Garrett would come in after a long day of work with sweat beading his tanned skin with a bushel of wild flowers he picked at the pond, hiding it behind his back like a secret. Alice would be in the kitchen preparing dinner for her husband, daughter-in-law and granddaughter. The granddaughter would see them first and giggle, crouching by her grandfather as he 'snuck up' on his wife. Alice would already be aware that they were coming from the child's giggling, but pretended to not notice them. Then Garrett would move in for the strike: snaking an arm around his wife's waist and placing the flowers to block her line of sight to his face. I always admired them for their love, watching with awe filled eyes until my mother would come and shout at me for some nonsense._

" _Comin'!" The little girl shouted from somewhere in the orchard. She came running straight toward me for I stood in the way of her and the door. Her staggered running typical of a child not yet fully developed and still discovering the strength of her young legs, legs that would grow to walk without making a sound unlike the pounding they were doing on the grass and dirt._

_I gasped lightly when she ran right through me like I was a specter. The bloodhound followed close behind, being mindful of his size so he wouldn't run the girl over. I followed closely behind, wanting to see the inside of the house that I once called home again. I pulled the door open and walked inside, feeling the warmth of the stove hit me and the smell of cooked beef and melted cheese. My hand touched the flat surface of the large oak table that had been in the family for generations. "Your great-great-great grandfather used to sit in the seat you're in now!" Grandfather would say. Little doilies decorated each sitting place, waiting for a hot plate of food to rest upon it.  
_

_"Go wash your hands!" Alice lightly ordered, ushering the small child to the water closet._

_The girl giggled and rushed to wash her hands and stopped in her tracks. "H-Hi, mummy," She greeted nervously. My mother glared at the child and raised her hand to slap her.  
_

_**Please mummy, don't hit me. I promise I won't do it again! I'll be good!** I thought nearly aloud. I remember this... It really is a memory. The night I ended up in hospital with three broken ribs, all because I listened to Alice calling me inside instead of her. Garrett and Alice kept my mother away from me for years, until my mother basically kidnapped me from my grandparents and took me to Rapture..._

"Jamie! Jamie, wake up!"

I let out a groan when I came to my senses, realizing I had fallen asleep. "Am I dead?" I questioned looking around at the train car that looked worse now than it had when I fell asleep.

"Nope, still here," Sinclair answered with humor in his tone.

I pawed at the blood threatening to block my vision of my left eye. My fingers trailed up to where the cut was supposed to be but found it gone, damn slug. I looked up at Sinclair who hovered near me with a worried look on his face.

"You all right?" Sinclair questioned, running a hand through my hair.

I nodded slowly getting up. "What about Delta?"

He shook his head and moved over to the radio. "Kid? C'mon, wake up now!" I slapped my hand on the monitor that had survived the crash for the most part. The screen finally came to life and we were able to see Delta move as he woke up. He was on the ocean bed looking around at the coral and sea life that grew around Rapture's base. "There you are. I thought you rode that torpedo into the great hereafter. We're in Dionysus Park now. Train cars a-shambles. Leakin' air. Whole damn place is flooded and sealed. But there's a pumpin' station back there on Siren Alley and I believe you could jerry rig it and drain the park out. That should let you stroll right inside. Get to those pumps and hurry."

I slowed my breathing as best as I could to preserve as much oxygen as possible. Who knew how long Delta would take to get through Father Wales' death trap. I knew what awaited him and I would lend my advice every now and then.

We watched Delta in a relative silence since talking used up oxygen. I only sat close to him with my fingers laced between his own. He gave me a comforting squeeze and watched the kid make progress through Siren Alley gunning down and incinerating anything that got in his way, so unlike the man who spared Grace's life. He entered the Mermaid Lounge and I warned him of the security turrets installed in the casino area. Delta diligently cleared the area of any cash and ammunition he could find along with killing anything that attacked him. He picked up an Accu-Vox that I was shocked was made by Sinclair. I glanced at him and he shrugged. "I though' they were all locked away in my office.

Delta pressed play, a habit he had picked up as he listened to the voices of Rapture. _"I do love Siren Alley. The kinda place you go to scratch an itch you're ashamed of – Even in a town with no laws. But that's not why I favor it. The place started out as the mason's quarter, all builders and architects, proper as you please. An' it just tickles me when someone in a fancy hat falls in the mud. Like a lot of the ladies down here, Siren Alley was born with a more respectable name… but only God remembers what it was."_

"Now that I think about it, even _I_ don't remember its old name," I commented looking at Sinclair.

He shrugged and twirled his gold lighter between his fingers. He was itching desperately for a smoke, but with the limited oxygen we had, he was smart enough to know that lighting one up in a sealed container was not a brilliant idea. I had never smoked before, finding the cancer sticks distasteful thanks to that old Betty that _used_ to be Fontaine's secretary before she was replaced by Camille. After all this was done, I was sure that smoking would become habitual if I ever got topside. Sinclair playing with his lighter also made me realize how dexterous Sinclair was with his fingers when the lighter twirled between each digit.

We turned back to watching Delta trek through Siren Alley.

That was when we saw him just outside of the Poisoned Apple: Father Simon Wales spliced almost beyond recognition. _"The beast of Ryan lives!"_ He shouted before leaping clear to the second story balcony. He was the same as the spider splicers that crawled around.

"Mother o' Mercy, I think that was Simon Wales. What's he done to himself?" Sinclair radioed. "He and his brother were Rapture's architects, but when Doc Lamb came along, Simon got religion."

"He went Section 8. Preaches up and down about Lamb. He's got a church down in the pumping stations. Don't expect a friendly welcome." I set the radio down and again we fell into silence.

He made it to the bulkhead leading to Plaza Hedone, but it was locked up tight with a key-code. "Jamie?" Sinclair looked to me but I shook my head.

"It has to have been changed by now. Sorry," I answered with a small frown. Before, the code was 1958 but after the riots it started to change periodically. Who knew what was now? Other than Sofia Lamb, Simon Wales and _maybe_ his brother Daniel Wales and who knew if that rat bastard was still alive after all these years. The Pearl was still in 'business' (the only one in the whole of Rapture) so that had to mean that Daniel was still alive.

I held back a flinch when… _something_ pulsed through my entire buddy and slammed into my brain. I glanced down at the location of the slug feeling it curl and twist at the pulse. My hand fell to the spot on my stomach and I grimaced. Words scraped around my brain, wanting for form, but not quite complete. My head started to ache right behind my eyes, straining to hear the words being whispered in the white noise, getting louder and louder as the seconds ticked by. My teeth ground together in an attempt to quell the migraine forming. I closed my eyes when the lights of the train car burned my vision.

"Jamie?" Sinclair questioned, but the loudness of his voice exploded through my head forcing me to cradle my head in my hands. "Jamie?" He shook my shoulder and I shook him off.

"It's just a headache. I'll be fine," I grunted, rubbing my palms over my eyes in a desperate attempt to sooth the migraine or at least dull the pain.

As quick as it came, the migraine was gone. I opened my eyes again slowly and found Sinclair's hand open with a couple of aspirin sitting in the middle. I took them and swallowed them dry even though the migraine was gone. "Maybe you should lie down?" He suggested rubbing my shoulders.

"I'm _fine_ ," I repeated, leaning heavily against his chest. He had put on a little weight, I noticed, which was good meaning he wasn't starving to death and actually eating unlike before. He was damn near skin and bones when I had last seen him. I could almost picture him binge eating in his nervousness and terror of where I disappeared to and what Lamb was doing to me. A silver-lining to the 3 weeks of torture Lamb put me through, but the bitch could still choke on her horn-rimmed glasses.

Sinclair dug in a pack laid not far from us and pulled out two pep bars. He dangled one in my line of vision between two fingers which made me smile and take the candy bar. "So this is what our food has reduced down to?" I asked. I unwrapped the bar and tossed the wrapper somewhere in the train car.

"Couldn't bring much when I fled the park." He munched pleased enough on the bar.

I nodded, a frown adorning my face. I couldn't imagine what Sinclair had gone through on his own, but then again he had Delta on his side along with Tenenbaum added with the fact that he was still _alive_ so that meant he was safe enough. I may have been a paranoid bitch, but my precautions seemed to succeed most of the time.

I moved off his chest when I saw Delta move in to the Pink Pearl. The same deceased Big Daddy was still there and Delta deftly relinquished the spear gun from the metal man, using it to pin a hooker coyly luring her John to pay for a good time to the nearest wall. The man gave a scream when she hit the wall with a sickening thud and whipped his gun around to kill whoever ruined his night but was met with another spear through the head, pinning him right beside the female splicer. I grimaced at the brutality and Sinclair took the radio. "The Pearl was among the ritziest lodgin's in Rapture. But durin' the war, the residents put themselves up for sale… Daniel's office is on the top floor, I believe." He looked to me for confirmation and I nodded.

He moved into a lower office and found an audio diary from Daniel complaining about his brother becoming _Father_ Wales and that if he 'ever saw that Sofia Lamb in the street he's going to give her the back o' his fuckin' hand and a nut on the head besides!' If Daniel wasn't running girls like my own mother, him and I would've made excellent partners in the concept of 'the enemy of my enemy is my friend'.

My breath hitched in my throat as he entered _THAT_ god forsaken room. My fingernails dug into Sinclair's hand and he knew automatically. She was STILL there, only the blanket had been torn from her body. Somehow, the air in the Pearl had kept her somewhat preserved, slowing the decaying process, but she still showed heavy signs of it. Her bones were poking out of brittle skin where mice and rats had fed on her. The needle in her arm was still lodged there, the tourniquet around her upper arm still there as well if a little loose. Rupert was still there as well, dead as a doornail. "That's your mother," He said, breaking the tense air.

"There, you've officially met my mother. Charming, isn't she?" I questioned, biting down on my free hand's knuckle.

"Overdose on ADAM?"

"She was hooked on the shit. I found her like that. Rupert, too. The last thing she had ever done to me was slap me and say that she made me who I am today," I said looking at the corpse of my mother while Delta scooped up a few dollar bills from under her bed.

I was happy when he left the room because that meant I didn't have to look at the pathetic corpse of my mother.

"I'm guessin' your ma wasn't exactly a peach growin' up with."

"No. I hated her. My… My father was a soldier who died during World War II. He joined up because he heard that his grandparents were killed in those death camps and he was Jewish. His parents renounced it to protect themselves, but he kept up the traditions. When he died, mother went downhill. She blamed me, beat me, spat at me and tried to crush any ounce of happiness I had. My only relief was my grandparents who truly cared for me. Mother hated them. She just hated everyone in general. She was a bitch then and she was a bitch when she died," I explained with a certain bite when my mother came up. When I spoke of my father, my tone was solemn and reverent of the man I respected even though I didn't know him. "She took me from the only people I felt safe with and brought me to this godforsaken place..."

"Your father an' grandparents sound like good people. I wouldn't mind meetin' them."

"Well, father's a no go. My grandparents would love you."

"Are you so sure about that? I've been told I have a heart of stone an' nobody likes me."

"Then how do you explain me?"

Sinclair chuckled and glanced at the screen, nearly jumping out of his skin. "That has to be Daniel," he radioed quickly to Delta. "Hunt him down an' pin his ears back, kid."

Daniel led Delta on a downright merry chase through the Pink Pearl. He had the upper hand with his home field advantage, but he was no match for Delta who finally caught up to the man and shot him full of .50 caliber rounds in a matter of seconds. Even the splicers Daniel threw at him couldn't slow him down which made me thankful he was on our side. Delta was a force to be reckoned with.

With the death of Daniel came the door-code: 1919, the same as the bottle of sacramental wine gifted to him by his brother Simon. _"Faith, Delta…_ " Sofia radioed. _"It lives within us, yet beyond us. Daniel Wales locked it; Father Wales does not. The faithful do no die in fear, as you did… we achieve martyrdom."_

He returned to the junction that lead to the rest of the Alley and Sinclair chimed once again over the radio, "Ah, now through this junction is the rest o' the Alley, includin' the pumpin' station we're after. Father Wales has been recruitin' Holy Rollers down there for Lamb."

Delta punched in the code, but the door only opened at _the most_ a third of the way before the power was cut to the whole junction. "Shite…" I cursed watching the screen carefully, watching for any movement in the shadows.

" _Father Simon Wales,"_ Lamb's voice echoed through the PA system around Siren Alley. _"Can you hear me? I have delivered a dead man to your doorstep. Simon, Daniel is dead. Murdered. Can you hear him crying out for justice?"_

"They've cut the power on ya – you're stuck 'til the back-ups kick in. I'll help you hold 'em back! Check the pneumo!"

"And you called me paranoid at some point."

"I'll admit: loadin' the pneumos beforehand was a genius idea."

"Even though that stuff was supposed to be for us to use if we were ever in a jam, but Delta can get better use out of it than us."

" _Know this, Beast,"_ Father Wales growled over the radio. _"Daniel's body may go cold… but his soul rests with the child of the Lamb. You shall roast and blacken in the pit, and it'll be a grieving brother who sends you there."_

Spider splicers shout out of the ceiling like demons from the Bible, but Delta met them with the power of a freed Big Daddy. The first that dropped through the ceiling was met with a drill to the skull, felling him immediately. The next few were downed with well-aimed rivets to the skull. _"Eleanor Lamb is our salvation, demon… you shall not rob us of our final reward!"_

A brute splicer burst through a pair of doors on the second level, scooping up an oil drum in the process. He threw it clear across the room at Delta and it exploded on impact. He shrugged it off and revved his drill threateningly at the brute. The brute moved up the stairs with speed surprising for something of his size and slammed into Delta's chest. Delta managed to throw the brute back and pump him full of .50 cal bullets, but it did little to slow him down. With a flick of Delta's wrist, the brute was engulfed in flames. A few more shotgun shells and the brute fell with a loud thud and a pained cry. Sinclair laughed in victory and radioed the Daddy, "Atta boy, sport… I think you're closin' in on Simon's underground 'temple'. Now get down to Pumping Station #5 an' drain out the park here. Oxygen's runnin' thin in this train car an' I'd sure hate to see our partnership cut short."

Delta raided the pockets of the splicers he killed, restocking on whatever he lost during the battle and walked through the bulkhead of Hedone Plaza. I growled low when Lamb came over the radio, _"Ask yourself, Delta… you, who have suffered beyond measure at the hands of men like Ryan… what is the cost of paradise? To end pain… to end sin… what must we pay? Eleanor is my answer."_

I shook my head at her answer. Eleanor Lamb, the prodigal child and former Little Sister. The weight of the Rapture world thrust into that poor girl's mind. She didn't even have any interaction with children until she managed to _break out_ of her prison with Lamb. Eleanor didn't deserve that. Sure, I didn't have the best childhood, but I at least had the love of my grandparents to quell with dealing with my mother. My mother at least had emotion, albeit a hatred for me, but it's better than being viewed as an experiment with no love or hatred for someone. While I knew exactly what my mother felt for me, Eleanor had no idea. Sofia was easily someone with a sociopathic mindset, manipulating people into thinking that she actually cares. She could fake the emotions necessary to make Eleanor _believe_ that her mother loved her.

Delta went about with his final Little Sister of the area, harvesting a corpse, collecting the ADAM and eventually killing the slug inside her with Tenenbaum's cure. The little girl thanked him and crawled into an air vent to be retrieved by Tenenbaum later. We both flinched heavily when we heard the high pitch scream of the Big Sister. I chewed my bottom lip as the screeching got louder and louder, Delta rushing to plant some traps to at least slow her down, hacking whatever turrets he could find to even the odds.

The Big Sister launched out from the Little Sister Orphanage, slamming into Delta's back and digging her needle into his shoulder. Delta spun around and swiped her helmet with his drill only managing to stagger her back. He fired off a few shotgun rounds into her helmet. She let to the second story balcony before any of us could realize it, levitating anything heavy she could find even the brute splicer he took down previously during the time it took for the Little Sister to collect the ADAM. With a heavy push of telekinetic each item slammed into Delta at once, nearly knocking him off his feet. The camera he hacked to identify himself as friendly and everything else as hostile went off like the fireworks on Guy Fawkes Day. Security Turrets flew out of their nests and sprayed bullets at the Big Sister, forcing her to leap back and hurl fireballs at the offending bots.

"Delta!" I called into the radio. "To your left. There's an explosive canister!"

He heeded my observation and hurled the red drum across the walkway into the front of the Big Sister. She let out a screech of pain, staggering to her knee. With one final dash with his drill, the Big Sister fell with a dying screech. Sinclair and I let out the breaths we didn't even realize we were holding. Delta collected his rewards from the Big Sister and moved on.

He finally entered Pumping Station #5 and automatically we could hear Simon preaching up a storm. The headache came back which only got worse with the difficulty of breathing in the thinning air. I looked up at Sinclair who had noticed that I was in pain, a worried expression causing his forehead to wrinkle. My hands shot around his throat, throwing him to the floor. "J-Jamie!" He choked, clawing at my hands. My fingers dug into his esophagus, squeezing until my knuckles were white. "STOP!"

I blinked.

We weren't on the floor anymore. Sinclair was still looking at me with a creased forehead. He was still sitting in his seat, still twirling his lighter. What the fuck was that? The headache was gone again and it took everything I had to slow my breathing so we wouldn't run out of what little oxygen we had left.

Delta was already in battle with Simon and his little army of church goers; shooting whoever got too close and lighting on fire the ones that managed to hit him. "Jamie? What's wrong? An' don't tell me you're fine," Sinclair ordered taking a hold of my chin between his thumb and pointer.

I opened my mouth to say something, but nothing seemed to come out. I didn't know _how_ to explain what was happening to me. I can't just tell him I had a vision of me choking the life out of him that seemed so real I actually thought I felt his fingernails dig into my skin. "Augustus…" I whimpered. "I'll tell you everything once we have enough oxygen again."

With that we fell into an awkward silence. He wasn't even holding my hand anymore.


	31. Chapter 31

The moment Sinclair had opened the train car door, we both scrambled out taking in deep gulps of air, coughing lightly. "Jesus Christ, I never thought I'd be so happy to breathe…" Sinclair moaned.

I glanced back at Sinclair who was leaning against the side of the train car with his hands on his knees. I nodded in agreement and he closed his eyes to quell a headache he'd been complaining about since the water first started to drain. " _Look, Delta, it is as the world for which you strive. You… alone… among the dead."_ We heard Lamb say over the old speakers hooked up to the monitor.

We grimaced at her words, feeling the truth in them.

We collected our gear and moved diligently through the empty halls of Dionysus Park to locate another train to barricade ourselves in. There were still wine bottles and the remnants of party decorations scattered everywhere, statues covered in coral and paintings soggy and partially destroyed. Bodies littered the ground in various places, still not entirely disintegrated though they were getting there. The smell of salt water and rotten flesh made us cover our noses with our shirts to make it at least a _little_ bearable.

The metro station was silent as expected meaning the splicers hadn't moved in yet so we still had a window of safety for the most part. Long enough to get set up and prepare for any attacks.

A shadow of movement was caught out of the corner of my eye and I looked sharply over at the booth, seeing a shadow dart past the window and duck under. I ran for the door of the booth only to find it securely locked. "Damn! Who's in there?!" I shouted, banging on the door. "Augustus, get in the train car." When he didn't move, I walked over and I grabbed his arm, pushing him inside the safety of the train car.

"What about you?" He questioned when I didn't step in as well.

"I'm going to find Delta. He should be here by now."

"Be careful."

I tapped the radio on my hip. "I'll be okay. Besides, I'll still be within radio contact. I'll check in every now and then."

He stepped out of the train car and pulled me into his arms, kissing me full on the mouth. I smiled when we parted and pulled my crossbow from its harness. "I'll take that for good luck," I smirked. "Radio Delta and warn him I'm coming so he doesn't shoot me." I stepped away and walked toward the basement entrance to Dionysus Park.

I paused only when the PA system went off. _"Attention: Subject Delta has drained and infiltrated Dionysus Park. His death is our rebirth – the life of the People's Daughter is in your hands!"_ Sofia Lamb exclaimed over the old and waterlogged speakers lining the place.

I looked up at the clanking of metal on metal coming from the vents I once called my home. "Shite," I cursed picking up the pace.

I passed by the rusted carousel, that still somehow had the lights working. I slowed to a stop when I noticed there was a Little Sister, alone, standing nearby just looking at the rusted over ride like she was waiting for it to turn on and play the ear-splitting carnival music. One of the very few blonde Little Sisters taken from the surface since the others were mostly brunettes. If I remembered correctly, she arrived last year at the end of October and one of the only Little Sisters that had a Big Sister for its protector.

I noticed someone moving around in the middle control booth of the carousel. The crossbow was immediately against my shoulder. I could hear mutterings and the soft squeak of one of those Accu-Voxs. A thud to my left caused me to spin towards it, ready to fire, but I froze. A Big Sister was crouched low, ready to spring on me at any sudden movements. I stared her down, trying to control the shaking my body was starting to do. In 8 years, I was never able to take down a Big Sister; almost always I limped out with some sort of grievous injury or I managed to escape, but that was always by hairs breadth. It was because of those attacks and Sinclair's pleas that I stopped trying to rescue the girls. And for one other reason I didn't want to discuss.

"No! Get back! She's my little girl!" A man shouted, stumbling out of the control booth.

He looked like a wreck, which didn't surprise me with Rapture, but he wasn't a splicer either. A perfectly normal human being and he was leveling a revolver at the Big Sister. I correct myself: crazy human being. He took a few shots that ricocheted off the Sister's helmet. The Big Sister screeched and scooped up the Little Sister, depositing her in the basket on her back. Ignoring me, she launched herself toward him with speed that outmatched anything I had seen.

"No! Run!" I shouted starting to run for him, but it was too late.

The Big Sister's needle went right through his abdomen, but didn't pierce any vitals. She raised him up and looked at him carefully even while he squirmed and fought to set himself free. With one more loud screech, she bounded off with the man in tow. "No stop!" A woman screamed running out of the control booth in the direction the Sister disappeared in. "Dammit, Mark..." She let out a chocked sob and collapsed to her knees, her shotgun clattering to the ground.

The woman had light blonde hair that was lightly streaked with gray, her skin a bit tanned meaning she and the other man were from the surface. When the woman turned her head to look at me, I immediately recognized those baby blue eyes. My only response was to walk up and slug her across the jaw. "What the _fuck_ are you doin' here, Camille?!" I nearly screamed at her.

"Jamie?" She whimpered, looking me over. She rubbed her jaw, moving it about to make sure I didn't dislocate it. It was tempting since maybe it would knock some fucking sense into her.

"No! You're not supposed to _be here_! You're supposed to be on the surface. Living your fuckin' life. Maybe a few kids!" I screamed at her. "You better have a fuckin' good reason, Adler!"

She stood up quickly and growled, "It's Bannock now and I'm here for Cindy!"

On her finger was a gold wedding band which meant she was indeed married and _did_ start a life. "Who is Cindy?" I questioned more harshly than I should have, but Camille should have stayed the on the goddamn surface.

"My goddaughter! We came to get her back."

"And you should have left her here. Bloody hell! In case you haven't noticed, there are bigger and worse things down here now."

"Yeah, I've noticed! What the hell was that thing? Sure as hell wasn't a Big Daddy."

I carded a hand through my hair and explained, "That was a Big Sister. The Little Sisters that Jack and Tenenbaum missed grew up. The plasmids they ingested with the ADAM turned them violent. Lamb had them reconditioned."

"That reminds me, why the hell didn't you get topside?!" She got into my face and I refused to back off. "8 years, Jamie! 8 years I lived with the guilt of leaving you here! I waited! For Christ's sake I waited for you to arrive topside. But you nor Sinclair showed. I was sure you were dead! And here I find you, alive and well still in this hell hole when you should have been on the next 'sphere to the surface."

"We tried! Want to know what 'appened when we tried to get to a 'sphere? Another was blown out of the water by torpedoes. Lamb 'ad already taken the city. Two innocent, sane people are dead and we would have been next if we tried to leave. Lamb _hunted_ us knowin' we were still alive. She nearly succeeded in killin' us a few times."

"Your hand is on fire…" She said, her eyes glued to my hand. "Jamie, you didn't…" She took a step back to get away from the heat.

I raised my hand and sure enough the veins of my hand were glowing an ugly red and my fingers were aflame, but it didn't burn. It only felt a bit warm. I blinked at it, remembering Lamb injecting me with the plasmid. "No. _I_ didn't."

"Then why the hell is your hand on fire? You hypocrite. After all that preaching to me about how you'd never touch the shit you go and splice yourself."

" _I didn't!_ " I hissed. "Lamb did this to me. For 8 years we hid like rats and then she got me. Not even Augustus knows what she did to me."

Delta thudded into the area sounding like a drunken rhino walking through a china shop probably to stop us from arguing and acknowledge that he was there. "Delta," I greeted plainly, not moving from my spot. Camille didn't back down as well, her pride having swelled again.

At the very least Camille looked healthy again minus the visible scars that were a constant reminder of what she went through. Her skin had tanned considerable and the color returned to her blonde hair from its original dull color. She no longer looked like a walking skeleton and had some decent meat on her bones to make her look like a woman instead of the torture victim that Sullivan had left her looking like. She must have arrived in Rapture with that man or Tenenbaum during my days of captivity otherwise I would have known otherwise. Was that man her husband or something? But she said that Cindy, the Little Sister I was guessing, was her goddaughter. The man shouted that Cindy was his little girl. So she and the man were just friends.

Delta let out a loud groan which finally made us step away from each other. I started to walk in the direction the train station, Delta following behind me only to stop again when Camille shouted after us, "Where are you going?"

"Back to Augustus, if you still care about him since you were keen on leaving him behind the last we saw one another," I growled.

"What about Mark?" So a name to the man taken by the Big Sister. Fantastic.

"Look at the facts: Mark was _taken_ by that Big Sister. Big Sisters don't take prisoners. No, Lamb _ordered_ for his capture. Probably would've taken you if she had the ability to. Mark is gone. Lamb's got him now."

"You escaped!"

"Barely! And you know I'm not someone who's completely normal."

"What did Lamb do to you, Donovan?" She questioned - her voice gentler.

I ignored her question and walked through the sliding doors with Delta in tow. I was able to quell my flaming hand so that Sinclair wouldn't question it, but I figured it was already too late since he could see through Delta's helmet. I heard Camille's footfalls as she ran to catch up to us, deciding that her odds of survival were better with Delta around.

" _Well, hello boys and ladies!"_ A weasel of a man came over the radio. " _The name's Stan Poole – Rapture Tribune. Quality paper…before the locals stopped readin' and started findin' other uses for it. Anyway, I'm looking to cut a deal, fellas. Come by the train station. I'm here in the booth._ "

"So that's who's in the booth," I muttered. "When I see Poole…"

We continued walking, allowing Delta to take down most of the splicers we came across to keep out of his way. _"Dionysus Park was my home, Delta…_ " Lamb crooned over the radio. _"An experiment in social unity, cut short by human folly. You dishonor its memory with every step."_

" _Now that – see: Lamb knows you're here, but I'm incognito. Thing is, since you drained the Park, the Little Sisters are already startin' to, uh, nose around, lookin' for ADAM. And I can't have that,_ " Poole explained. He seemed a bit nervous from hearing Lamb's voice.

In the lobby right before the train station, we came across a little wagon with childish drawings all around it. Sitting on the wagon was a few jars of lightning bugs, a few pillows and more importantly: a grenade launcher perfect for someone of Delta's size. A couple of frags and a first aid kit also laid in front of it. He picked it up after a few moments of pause and collected the ammo for it.

The door to the train station slid open and we were greeted by a couple of splicers fussing over a malfunctioning turret which was hacked with a hack-dart from Delta, turning the turret on them They were picked off in a matter of seconds and the train station was quiet again.

Sinclair calmly walked out of the train with a much needed cigarette in his hand and smiled. "Why Miss Camille! I never thought I'd see you again!" He greeted.

Camille smiled back and rushed up to him giving him a warm hug. "It's good to see you too."

I glared at her before turning to Stanley in the ticket booth. "What game are you playing at, Stanley, locking down the station?"

Delta thudded up behind me, waiting for an answer as well. "Okay, so dead men tell no tales, right? Wrong. See, with ADAM involved, every stiff's got a story – and Lamb knows how to read it. If stuff makes if back to her, I'm an obituary." He laughed nervously at the glare I was giving him. "So I want you to take the story of Dionysus Park… and bury it. Get rid of the Little Sisters for me… your way. Do that and I'll unlock the station here. Scout's honor."

Sinclair shook his head and crossed his arms, "Well I'd say "he's hidin' somethin'", but he sort o' took the fun outta that one. He's locked in the security booth, however – so we'll have to play along. Find those Sisters."

Delta groaned out a response like we could understand him and wandered off to track down those Sisters. He looked to the two of us and said, "We're goin' to have a nice little chat."

He gestured for us to enter the train car and ever so reluctantly we did.

We sat down at opposite ends of the bench while Sinclair sat across from us. He stared both of us down and for a moment I felt like a child being scolded for being caught with my hand in the cookie jar. He offered Camille a crumpled cigarette, who waved a passing hand at them. Time has changed Camille who used to smoke a pack a day it seemed.

Sinclair lit up his and took a long drag, stuffing the pack into his shirt pocket. He then leaned forward and took a hold of my wrist, turning it so it was palm up. "Incinerate," He stated, tracing his thumb over the pulse of my wrist. "I know this isn't all Lamb did to you. And you're going to tell me what happened during those 3 weeks, Jamie Donovan." I looked away from him. "You promised, Jamie. We've known each other for a long time. Been together almost as long. I know for a fact that you've lied to me on several occasions to protect me, to protect Camille and to protect yourself, but I never said anythin' about it." Camille visibly flinched when he mentioned her part. How often I kept secrets for her and I'm sure she thought I blabbed them to Sinclair. "I stayed silent lettin' you believe that I wouldn't question it or that I believed your word. This is too serious for me to ignore you blatantly lyin' to me, Jamie. I don't want Hawkeye that feels the need to protect me from everything," He reprimanded, squeezing my wrist to get his point across. "I want Jamie Donovan, the woman I fell in love with who trusted me wholly. What did Lamb do to you?"

I bit my lip at the truth to his words. I sighed and relayed everything that had happened. From the questions she asked, my answers, the humiliation she put me through, to the surgery to implant the slug (which caused Camille and Sinclair to gasp and stare at my stomach) and to Lamb injecting me with Incinerate! to _prepare_ me to protect the Daughter of the People aka Eleanor Lamb. I even told him about the urges I would feel due to the slug and the torture, like the need to kill Sinclair and to walk back to Lamb.

By the end of it, I was shaking with my own anger and pain and Camille had scooted closer to me but still didn't touch me. There was a bruise forming on her jaw from where I slugged her and I still didn't regret it a bit. My knuckles were still red from it, but the pain was welcomed. It reminded me that I was still human and the slug still didn't have complete control over my mind and body.

"Thank you," Sinclair said after I was finished and gave me a light kiss to show that he had forgiven me for lying to him about this. Then he turned to Camille. "So Camille, tell us what you've been up to for 8 years and what you're doin' back here."

Camille leaned back in her seat and took a shaky breath - calming herself from guilt it seemed. "Well, after Jack, Tenenbaum, the rescued Sisters and myself reached the surface we were picked up and taken to Iceland to the hospital. I had to undergo surgery from the knife wound. Jack had reconstructive surgery to repair his vocal cords." I smiled at the knowledge that Jack was all right. "I don't remember much except being told that my… that both of my parents were dead."

"I'm sorry to hear that, darlin'," Sinclair lamented and she nodded, accepting his condolences.

"We were eventually returned to the US after the Embassy confirmed our identities. It was a bit hard to explain most of our injuries, chalking it up to the plane crash, but they were no fools. I returned to New York while Jack and Tenenbaum moved somewhere west where I lost contact with them." She then puffed up a little proud of herself, "I started a life for myself. I was able to get a job and live somewhat normally." Vague, she was hiding something "Then out of no where, Tenenbaum showed up at my house to tell me about the recent abductions that I already knew about due to Mark Meltzer, the man who was taken. At first I told her to leave me alone." She had directed that last statement toward me. "I underwent years of… therapy to try and quell with the trauma." I rolled my eyes, running through my memories of all the times I told her _not_ to trust therapists or doctors for that matter. "I-I checked myself into a hospital."

"A hospital?" I growled. "And make those quack doctors think you're crazier than you really are? Did any of it help?"

"I need _help!_ " She argued. "How do you think I felt?! I went from this hell hole to the peaceful topside with people who weren't constantly trying to kill me. How could I go back to normalcy after _killing_ hundreds of people?!"

I stayed silent, not wanting to antagonize her any further knowing that she wouldn't be afraid to stab me repeatedly. It still succeeded in making her angry, but she continued. "I spent about 2 years there before I was released back into 'normal' life. I met my husband, James Bannock, and a year later we were married. I tried to live my life. I even made a trip to England with James and met your grandparents, Jamie."

My breath hitched in my throat about my grandparents. I was happy to hear that they were indeed still alive. Alice and Garrett Donovan were everything I could have dreamed of in my life. They were the one good thing I had when my mother was around and I was glad to hear that they were still there. "What did you tell them?"

"I told them about you and about Rapture. They were the only people I had told about it. My husband wasn't there to hear it thankfully, but they surprisingly believed me and were relieved to know that you were still alive after all of these years. They want you to come home."

"And I'm tryin'."

"Your grandfather is quite humorous if I do say so myself. They seem like wonderful people and welcomed me, a complete stranger, into their home."

"Whitby wasn't known for violent crimes," I reminded. "It's just a little seaside town."

"It was still a beautiful place. Much of England was beautiful."

I nodded, letting the memories of the orchard and the seaside steps cloud my thoughts with the pleasant feeling I felt amongst them. I hadn't thought of it much over the years I've been in Rapture almost to the point where I could barely remember it, but Camille telling me about my grandparents refreshed everything I had missed about the place.

Hopefully, with Delta's help, I'd be able to return home soon and Sinclair could finally see what my life was like before Rapture.

Sleep was fitful at best even curled up in Sinclair's arms. Camille didn't sleep much during the 2 hours of sleep preferring to zone out with her chin tucked into her knees and her arms wrapped around her legs. Delta was still making his way through Dionysus Park trying to hunt down the Little Sisters which was a little difficult since that meant he had to take on their Big Daddies. He had already rescued one and was moving on to track down the other two.

Stanley hadn't made much of a peep inside of the booth, but that was mostly from his fear of me that he admitted to. At least he still remembered that I could end him in a heartbeat with a paperclip. He looked awful from what we did see of him: skinnier than his normal stature, hair greasy like he hadn't showered in weeks and I'm fairly certain that if we went into the booth we could smell him as well. Even if the city went to hell, the plumbing still worked. Even Sinclair and I took showers in apartments that didn't have the bathroom looking like someone lobbed a grenade inside.

"What do you think Lamb is doing to Mark?" Camille questioned when Sinclair was snoozing.

"Probably inducting him into her damn religion. Or turning him into a Big Daddy. That Sister was the only one who remained without a Big Daddy. As far as I know she never bonded with any of them."

"She was Mark's daughter. She's too smart for a girl her age."

"Her name is Cindy?"

"Yes. She's my goddaughter."

"Cindy… Now just to find out the names of the rest."

"You kept track of them?"

I nodded once. "Yeah. Kept me busy. I also figured that if we made it topside it'd be easier to track down their families if I knew when they disappeared and arrived 'ere."

" _When_ we get topside."

"Fool's 'ope."

"But still hope." I looked at her slightly annoyed at her mild optimism. "You're not masking your accent anymore."

A quirk of a smile was the only thing that she received. "I never knew I did," I admitted.

I returned my attention to Sinclair's sleeping visage, reaching a hand up to lightly trace the shadow on his face. He needed to shave, but that luxury didn't come very often. I was envious about how he could sleep even in this hell hole when I could barely get a few minutes in – an hour if I was lucky. It was worse now than it was in the past, I could thank Lamb for that.

Camille shifted awkwardly in her seat, still not used to any affection I would show to Sinclair. I'm sure she's still content to believe that I was nothing but cold even to Sinclair, but like a melting ice pack even _I_ warmed up after a while to Sinclair's charms. I think it scared her a bit, but I knew she'd get over it soon enough.

At least she looked healthy for better or for worse. She had more color to her cheeks and her hair wasn't as dull as it was the last I saw her. There were still shadows under her eyes (sleep must come as often as it does for me), and her wrist was still crooked, but she didn't look like a shell of her former self. I smiled unconsciously.

"What?" Camille questioned, noticing the smile.

I shook my head. "Nothing to be concerned about."

Camille glanced over at the screen and pointed out, "Delta found the last Sister."

Sure enough, Delta was in fierce combat with a Bouncer that was going in his favor with the aid of hacked security bots and a few thoughtfully placed traps. The Bouncer fell with a couple of shotgun blasts to the helmet and Delta collected the Little Sister to begin traveling around looking for corpses to drain ADAM out of. It was mindless repetition that Delta seemed accustomed to already: prepping the area with traps and mini machine gun turrets sitting at doorways, placing the Sister down and finding a spot to stand to watch her carefully.

My head shot up when I heard the familiar screech of a Big Sister resonate close to the train station, making the windows on the train car rattle in protest to the high frequency screech. "Shite!" I cursed grabbing my crossbow. Sinclair was awake with his revolver in hand, looking around the train car for any possible sign of the Big Sister trying to break in.

Delta thudded into the area in a big rush, spinning around every few seconds. The Big Sister was on his tail hurling fireballs and anything heavy at his large frame. Camille ducked low, copying my movements and asked, "Shouldn't we help him?"

"And the last fight with a Big Sister ended _so well_ for you," I reminded, taking a moment to poke my head up to the window to see the fight.

The Sister jumped clear across the room, her knees slamming into Delta's shoulders just as her elongated needle stabbed into his shoulder, dangerously close to where his heart would be not that it would kill him. I gulped as the moment I was nearly killed by a Big Sister flashed into my mind. That fight took a lot out of me and I barely recovered from it both physically and mentally.

"Jamie Donovan is not involving herself in this fight. What the hell happened to you?"

I didn't answer her, still pained by the memory. Sinclair looked at me like every question Camille asked about the Big Sister was driving an ice pick into his jugular. "I just actively avoid Big Sisters if I can help it. Savin' your ass on the other hand is not on my 'To Do' list currently. You force me to add it and I will launch you out the nearest dry dock."

Sinclair reached over and rubbed my shoulder comfortingly. The topic was… unpleasant. Something I'd rather _not_ remember for more than just having to be dragged out of Medical Pavilion holding in my guts with a wad of bandages by Sinclair.

The Big Sister screeched painfully as her suit erupted with flames from a well-aimed bolt of Incinerate. Delta revved his drill and shot forward faster than anything I'd ever seen, the point of the drill going straight through the Sister's diving armor, tearing her torso up something fierce. She collapsed to her knees before letting out a dying screech and slumping to the ground on her side. Delta retrieved what loot he could get from the corpse. _"Subject Delta, I have known for years of Stanley's betrayal here, and had forgiven him. But in compromising Eleanor now… He seals his fate. You see, it was Stanley who turned you in to Ryan. He is responsible for what you have become. The security booth is open now… You may have your revenge."_

We looked at Delta who stood silent. I bore no true hatred of Stanley Poole, but that didn't mean I would miss him if Delta ended his pathetic life. "Sweet Jesus… Lamb knew?!" We heard Stanley shout from the booth. The first official word we had heard that wasn't really directed at Delta. "And she just let me hang myself out to… oh god… now-now-now c'mon pal, the train's ready, just… just let me live!" And the man was begging, depleting what dignity he had left.

Delta glanced at the booth before thudding his way aboard the train, letting Stanley Poole live. "Our tin man proves once again that he has a heart," Sinclair commented reclining in his seat. "Next stop: Fontaine Futuristics."

The train groaned into life and chugged along.


	32. Chapter 32

The train groaned under the pressure again and Camille winced. I contented myself with staring out the window, watching schools of fish dart away from a shark looking for its next meal.

I took the chance to wander the other cars of the train to check for any supplies someone might have left behind - a few cans here, a jar of fresh water there, and even a few boxes of ammo, but there wasn't much. It passed the time though.

"Jamie," Camille got my attention. I didn't say anything, but I made eye contact with her. "What happened back there?"

I bit the inside of my lip. "I just don't want to face a Big Sister. My last true fight with one was 4 years and I'd rather keep that streak."

"So, there's a corpse of a Big Sister somewhere in Rapture riddled with holes, right?"

I shook my head 'no'. "I barely walked out of that fight. In fact, I didn't walk out. Augustus dragged me from Medical Pavilion. I nearly bled to death and I…" I trailed off, my fingers curling painfully so that my nails were biting through the sleeves of my jacket into my palms. "I lost more than a lot of blood, Camille. That Big Sister took my child."

The color physically drained from Camille's face, definitely not expecting that answer. I avoided eye contact with her and continued scrounging through the various purses and suitcases left behind by the formerly sane citizens of Rapture.

"I was only two months pregnant. I thought I'd be okay to go to Medical Pavilion to see if I could find anything that could help with the pregnancy. Vitamins, booklets, anything. Lamb was still hunting us and the Big Sisters were starting to make an appearance. We avoided them easily at first..." I trailed off and swallowed the saliva building up in my mouth, trying to stop me from talking. "All I found was a bunch of empty bottles and a Big Sister waitin' for me. I barely escaped and collapsed just outside of Medical Pavilion after I had sealed the bulkhead. That's when Augustus found me. I should have died that day, because I felt like I died inside. I didn't speak for weeks. I barely left Ryan Amusements. It took a while for me to have any energy to do anything."

Camille's hands were shaking and her jaw was tense. Every muscle she had was tight, the hairs on the back of her neck was standing up. "A…" She finally stammered out. "A lot has happened over these years."

It was hard on me, sure, but Sinclair was actually looking forward to the child, looking forward to being a father. A few nights I had caught him speaking to my abdomen, pressing his face into the naked flesh. I had only two months with my baby. I didn't even know what gender it was. No injury that I had sustained, not even at the hands of Sullivan could compare with the pain of that day. The mental damage almost destroyed me.

Camille being here also made me realize just how different I had become from my days being known only as Hawkeye to the point where it was almost like two different people living in the same body. I couldn't even remember when we became two separate people: Jamie Donovan - older, hopefully wiser, with a loving man and _friends_ and Hawkeye - cold, distrustful and _alone_. Everything shitty that could happen to someone has occurred to me with very few moments of happiness and all of those moments were with Sinclair… barely.

Camille crossed the threshold until she was standing in front of me, weighing her options of where to continue from here. I was not expecting physical contact until she threw her arms around me. I tensed up involuntarily, my limbs locking up and preventing me from returning the gesture. I could feel the wetness on my shoulder meaning Camille was crying. Not sure why _she_ was crying, but I didn't say anything to reprimand her for crying in front of me.

Then it hit me - I was no longer alone. I had Augustus, I had Camille, I had Grace, and that was far more people than I had when I started. I felt that I didn't need to hide my pain anymore. That Camille and Augustus wouldn't judge me for my weakness that I couldn't help but show, unable to keep it hidden behind a wall.

My arms finally circled around her middle and I started to cry into her shoulder. Damn this pride of mine.

* * *

The train came to a stop at Fontaine Futuristics and Sinclair opened the door to the conductor car. "This is it, chief, end of the line. If I'm right, Eleanor's momma's usin' ADAM to force all of Rapture's minds and memories into the poor girl. Lamb reckons it'll make that child a saint. Now, Eleanor's in a deep dark place beneath Fontaine Headquarters, and to keep you alive we need to sneak in and find her. And I know just the ladies to escort you through the place." He glanced back myself and Camille having already calmed down.

I stood up and hefted my crossbow into my hands. Camille nodded without saying a word, picking up her own shotgun. I gave Sinclair one last small kiss, reaching into his pocket and snatching his lighter. "I'm borrowing this," I stated, not giving him room for debate. "Let's get the kid," I stated walking past Delta.

Delta groaned and followed the two of us.

The main foyer was nearly empty with the exception of two splicers who were dealt with swiftly. It was amazing that the large pane windows weren't leaking from the amount of destruction this place suffered and the wall to their right was graffiti'd with the words "ASCENSION IS NEAR" with butterflies and a shrine around a Little Sister vent beneath it.

I took the lead walking down the stairs, noting the poster of Lamb to my left surrounded by more butterflies and the ominous warning "Lamb is watching". She could watch all she wanted, but by the end of this she was going to die. I didn't care anymore. Several boxes labeled 'seized' littered the foyer left over from Ryan that Lamb must have found no use for.

We continued on into the employees portion, passing lockers and forgotten articles of clothing. Yet another wagon with a gene tonic was left for Delta by Eleanor. A bio-scanner still in operation aimed it's sensors at us and clicked off. The television screen below it clicked on revealing a picture of none other than Gilbert Alexander. _"October 9_ _th_ _, 1967. Hello. My name is Gilbert Alexander, and by the time you hear this, I will be clinically insane. I-I am recording these diaries in advance, as a… last ditch-effort to assist anyone I might… threaten… in dealing with me."_ He sounded both mentally and physically in pain but from I had seen of him, he'd be long gone into throngs of madness and deformed into a monstrosity. _"My next message awaits you beyond the security checkpoint. The bio-scan will ensure that you're sane enough to need it."_

Sinclair chimed in over the radio, _"Hmmm… Gil Alexander… as I recall he was involved in Big Daddy development from the beginning."_ Camille nodded her own confirmation at the inquiry. _"Likely had something to do with you and Eleanor, son."_

"This is where we split up for a few minutes. Take the waterway to the next entrance. We'll meet you there," I explained making sure my crossbow was secured to my back. Camille did the same knowing we were taking the vents since there was no guarantee that the diving suits laying around would work anymore.

Delta groaned and let the bulkhead shut behind him as he flipped the switch to 'Fill'. I looked for the opening I needed and used the lockers to reach it. Camille was right behind me thankfully so I wouldn't have to help her get up into the vent. "A bit tighter than I remember," She muttered, keeping close remembering the one rule I laid out for the vents: My speed or get left behind.

By now Delta would have made it to the other side to Gil's lab and hopefully was waiting patiently for us in the main foyer. I paused, hearing a loud yelling coming from the vent leading into the main foyer and something that sounded like someone shocking another with Electrobolt. I glanced back at Camille who shrugged her shoulders at the noise. I kicked open the vent and dropped down on the overhang that looked over the bottom floor of the foyer. Delta was picking off splicers left and right in a massive display of plasmid power and heavy artillery until he came out the victor. Camille gulped back her awe at seeing a Big Daddy up close and personal since she didn't have to react with fear of the behemoth.

" _Alex the Great?! Oh hell, that has to be Gil Alexander, same man who left that message we're followin',"_ Sinclair said over the radio. The yelling we heard in the vents… _"He sounds mad as a March hare now."_

I stood up from behind the crates and called down, "Delta, come up the stairs!" The crossbow was in my grip once more and we made our way to the sealed doors with another bio-scanner waiting for us. Delta thudded up the stairs and flipped the switch to the doors causing the bio-scanner to flip on.

" _Initiating bio-scan,"_ an automated voice said. _"I-I-I-Identifying cl-clearance level… Identified: Employee, Sinclair Solutions. Name: Camille Adler. Status: Active."_

It clicked again. _"I-Identified: Employee, Sinclair Solutions. Name: Jamie Donovan. Status: Deceased. ERROR. Updating status… please stand by."_

"They think you're dead?" Camille questioned glancing over at me.

I shrugged as the scanner beeped again saying it updated my status to active. I was more surprised that I was even in the Sinclair Solutions system which I would have to question Sinclair about later since I thought I was a secret, not a registered employee. Unless Gil added me beforehand.

" _Identified: Clinical Trial Subject. Classification: Protector. Designation: Delta. Status: Deceased. ERROR. Updating Status… please stand by…"_

"What's this?" We heard Alexander exclaim as his little bot flew down from a hole blasted into the maintenance shaft. "My secretary vouches for you! A blast from my past and present. Donovan, Adler, nice of you to come back! Delta, eh… you're one of our old Protectors, yes? You're a fine product, Delta! Fine product. Built to last. Say, don't look now, but I believe one of your old colleagues wants to welcome you back to the office!"

We flinched when we heard a loud groan followed by several RPGs flying out of the giant hole in the wall, threatening to blow Alexander's little bot away. "Oh shite…" I groaned.

"Alpha Series?" Camille questioned watching the Big Daddy leap from the hole onto the statue of the globe with different plasmids discharging from the poor things suit.

"Yeah… Delta, you can take him," I said backing away from him.

Alpha Series were the most dangerous out of all the Big Daddies, not because of their power (that added to it), but because they had gone mad with the grief of losing their Little Sisters to splicers or to Tenenbaum since they were bonded permanently to them, plus the physical pain of being separated from their Sisters helped with the madness. They attacked anything on sight and banged on Little Sister vents in hopes that their Sister would come out. If that failed, than all that was left to do was scream and destroy anything in their path. Some retained enough sanity to wander around and repair leaks in Rapture, but time would see them succumb like the rest.

Delta jumped over the railing until he was at ground level proceeding his vicious attack against the Alpha Series. All Camille and I could do was crouch behind the pillars on the second story balcony with our backs pressed against the concrete to avoid getting hit during the battle.

We only came out once we heard the dying shouts of the Alpha Series and Delta walking back up the stairs, his suit coated with the other Daddy's blood. The corpse of the Daddy laid in the small pool around the globe smoldering from the amounts of _Incinerate!_ it took during the fight. "Holy shit…" Camille commented.

" _Designation: Delta. Status updated. Status: Active. Access granted."_ The door finally opened leading into the security checkpoint and ultimately the rest of the lab. The secretary was still sitting at her desk, albeit dead, but still there like she had been shot on the spot.

" _Hello again. I… I have been exposed to a massive dose of substance ADAM. By the time you hear this, I will have armed this facility's defenses en masse."_ Camille groaned lightly already knowing what he meant meaning this would NOT be a walk in the park to find Eleanor. _"Ah… and on that cherry note, you may use the diary lying near this screen to bypass the vocal print locks ahead and enter the security office. The password is 'Agnus Dei'."_

I scoffed at the password. "The Lamb of God? Is he serious?"

"You knew what that meant?" Camille questioned.

"There were a few Italians living in the Drop. Picked up a few words from them."

Inside a small cubby by the screen, just as Gil mentioned, was an first aid kit, an EVE hypo and the Accu-Vox with the recording of Gil saying "Agnus Dei".

Delta wandered around the security checkpoint to the second set of sealed doors that had a voice activated switch to open it. Delta hit the button and held the recording up for it to play. _"Access granted. Welcome, Gil Alexander,"_ The security scanner greeted and the doors opened.

I ducked when Alexander's bot came flying overhead shouting, "I heard that! My likeness is company property, Delta, just like you are. Don't make me strip you for parts, me laddo!" It flew off a little bit, putting some distance between us and the bot in case we decide to take a few swings as the annoying thing.

The security booth was locked, as expected and Delta pressed the button. _"Please speak password to enter."_

The bot flew in close forcing me and Camille and leap away lest we get beaned in the skulls. "I warned you!" He growled. "Ahem!" Shocks of electricity shot out from the bot into the voice scanner. "WHEN YOU'RE DOWN IN THE MOUTH AND LIFE'S A PAIN. WEATHERMAN SAYS 'HEAVY RAIN'!"He started singing loudly. He was singing the bloody Fontaine Futuristics jingle. "A LITTLE BOOST IS ALL YOU NEED, AVERAGE JOE TO HERCULES, STRONGER ARM and SHARPER BRAIN, THAT'S WHY THE FUTURE IS FONTAAAAAAINE!" He laughed manically once he finished.

" _Access denied. Please speak clearly. Automatic deactivation for 60 sceonds."_ Translation: You're not getting in here with that bot hanging around.

" _Aw, he's jammin' the voiceprint lock with that awful croonin'! See if you can find some way to sabotage his control of building security,"_ Sinclair suggested.

"Delta…" Alexander started like he was scolding a child. "You're dawdling. The security office is well above your pay grade. If you're so keen to help, the restrooms need a good scrub. Here's a clerk or two to help you along."

The doors behind us open and I spun around and stuck a bolt in the head of a splicer that came running at us with their machine gun ready to fire. We were greeted to the atrium by a corpse pinned to the wall by spears (even his suitcase and hat was pinned) and 'FIRED' burned around his head. Alexander didn't take to well to people trying to quit I guess.

After we dealt with the remaining splicers in the area, Delta yanked the spears from the wall and refilled his spear gun quietly. I perked up when I heard the stomping of another Big Daddy and the chanted, "Come on, Mr. B!"

Delta heard it too and immediately went up the double set of stairs where we heard the angry shout of the second Big Daddy. Delta could handle his own for now so I looked to Camille. "What do you think we're looking for exactly?"

She smiled and said, "Something that looks expensive."

I shrugged as we started our hunt.

* * *

The final jamming receiver was destroyed after yet another fight with an Alpha Series this time in a theater that was designed to show off the power of plasmids in Big Daddies behind a reinforced glass wall. To Camille it was familiar because she used to sit in the spectator seats while Gil showed off the Big Daddy models - including Delta. Camille and I scrambled around the stage in a desperate attempt to keep out of of the way of the discharging plasmids while Delta dealt with the Alpha Series in his own violent way.

Alex the Great was less than pleased shouting constantly over the radio that we were 'fired'. Never had we been so happy to see the annoying little bot finally cut out and crash to the floor. We made it back to the security booth with haste and played the password for the voice-print lock. The doors slid open and we were greeted with a small arsenal of items that would prove useful to use against anyone that would cross our path.

The screen came to life and a picture of Gil Alexander popped up. _"Hello again,"_ He greeted. _"I must assume that you're willing to help end my life. In exchange, I have prepared a friendly security escort for you."_

A grate above the control panel opened and out came a security bot. It buzzed over our heads and out the door for a little more free range instead of the tight room the three of us stood in. _"Ah, now… there's a switch in here which will allow you access to the real laboratories, where… where what's left of me awaits you. Please – use it."_

Camille pressed the button in question with the palm of her hand and we heard a loud clanking noise coming from the laboratories. "This is where we leave you again," I said gesturing for Camille to follow me. Delta lumbered off to the water entrance that would take him to Gil's lab.

"Can't we take the tunnel?"

"Collapsed last year."

"Bathysphere?"

"Destroyed during that torpedoing I mentioned."

"The train!" I looked at her mildly annoyed. "I just hate the vents."

"Yeah, well, it's the only way we're getting there."

Camille groaned and reluctantly followed me into the vent needing a bit of assistance. Once again, I refrained from pointing out that she had gotten weaker during her time on the Surface, but that was to be expected. The things down here weren't on the Surface, I had to remind myself.

My vision started to blur and the headache returned causing my elbows to curl in on themselves. "Jamie?" Camille whispered touching my calf.

"It's nothing," I fibbed and continued crawling unconsciously as I had done for years.

I opened the vent only to see everything dark making it hard to see where to land. "What the hell?" I murmured before reaching into my pocket for Sinclair's lighter that I had taken from him. I pulled my crossbow from my back and handed it back to Camille. "Wait here until I call you. Unless you hear something. Then by all means jump down."

I slowly lowered myself down using pure upper body strength. I stopped when my arms were at about a 90 degree angle and looked around. I glanced back when I heard a soft beep meaning the water entrance was in use and draining. Delta was here. Taking a breath, I dropped thankfully landing on nothing that would injury me. I gave the lighter a few flicks before it caught fire illuminating the small area. "We're good," I called up to Camille who jumped down a few moments later.

She handed me the crossbow back and waited for Delta to make his appearance. "What happened to the lights?" Camille asked. "Gil hated the dark."

"Only you would know that."

"I thought you knew things about _everyone_." The tone was a bit snippy for my tastes, but I realized what she was doing after that phrase: she was bringing back Hawkeye instead of the Jamie that confessed to nearly having a pure mental breakdown over the loss of her baby. For once, she wanted me to criticize her every move like I did in the old days. Normalcy.

I smiled and said, "I was too busy babysittin' _you_ to know that Alexander was afraid of the dark."

Delta groaned to get our attention. His helmet lit up the area better than the lighter so I put the lighter back in my pocket. _"Darlin', do you remember that Oxy-Fill station out front?"_

"Sure? It's just a front from what I remember. That was the weirdest piece of information I ever collected," I shrugged, handing Camille my radio.

"Oxy-Fill station? That's a front?" Camille questioned. Fontaine must have left out that bit from her time working for him.

It was the only part of the lab that Fontaine didn't exactly own. He was the main branch sure, but the lower lab was owned by a smaller firm that mostly dealt with gene testing. I forgot the name, but eventually Lamb took claim to it.

Delta's light moved about as he moved until it fell on a sea plant growing along the wall. "Wait…" Camille murmured. "These are polyps. It's where they got the genes to create the Hypnotize plasmid. I didn't know they still grew down here."

"Learn something new every day," I commented following Delta further into the lab.

The door opened to reveal a more spacious room with a large tank in the middle. The master control panel had plant life growing on it, but appeared to still be functional. The screen off to the right beeped and turned on with another message from Gil Alexander. _"I'm afraid the lights in here sting my eyes terribly now. Until you arrive to deal with me, they will remain off. Please, locate the breakers and flip them and then return here to restore power."_

"You know where the breakers are?" I asked.

"I do actually," Camille stated matter-of-factly. "There's one over on the tank controls," She pointed off to the right somewhere. It was hard to see even with Delta's helmet light. "And one by the stairs leading to the Pacification Chambers." Delta thudded off to the left and Camille wandered off to the right leaving me to wait by the master controls.

There was a flower about the size of my head growing from the plant life on the console. I had seen it before: the ADAM slugs ate them. "What happened to you, Alexander?" I questioned mostly to myself.

Camille called out, "Activate the power mains!" I pressed the button on the master controls and the lights flickered back on.

" _Sofia and I knew that to create the first true Utopian would come at a high cost, my friend. We needed someone to be host to all that ADAM… Rapture's finest minds. A willing subject. That is to say… myself."_

I let out an involuntary yell of, "Jesus Christ, what the hell is that?!" and stumbled backwards at whatever that… _thing_ was that had screamed in the tank and disappeared lower.

" _Whatever you may have seen inside that tank, that was indeed me. I fear the fate of Eleanor Lamb will be less physical, but no less grotesque. This tank for deep sea life is the ideal way to… to dispose of me. But first, you must retrieve enough ADAM-infused plant life to lure me out. The slugs feed on the stuff and it's… all I seem to want now. I have left a sample here so you know what to look for."_ Gil finished his monologue and the screen went black again.

By then, Camille and Delta had joined me, each staring at the tank at what we had just seen. "I see you out there, Delta! You want to be top man!" Alex the Great growled from his tank. "You want to sit in the big chair? Well, come and take it!" His tone turned a bit more crazy and sing-song as he said the next line, "As for you, Donovan, time is running out!"

Camille's eyes were on me again. The slug inside me twisted haphazardly - reminding me that it was still there and slowly turning me into a monster. "Let's just find those stupid plants," I growled shouldering past Camille.

The search was on for those damn plants.


	33. Chapter 33

It was Camille who spotted him first – well, spotted Cindy Meltzer. "Oh my god…" She gasped lowering her shotgun. "Cindy!"

The little blonde girl paid no heed to her shouting godmother and continued to skip from floor tile to floor tile like a blood and grime soaked hopscotch singing to her little heart's content.

What caught my attention was the Big Daddy lumbering near her. Cindy was the only Little Sister to not bond with a Big Daddy, so for this one to be lumbering near her and for her to be calling him "Mr. B", that could only mean one thing. "It's Mark," I stated making Camille look at me sharply, expecting me to be making up the fact that one of her dearest friends on the surface was that behemoth.

"What? N-No… It can't be!" She started to walk toward the pair, but I grabbed her around her waist pulling her literally off the ground and spun around to hold her back better. Delta ignored us and charged Mark and Cindy, paying no mind to Camille screams to leave Mark alone.

"Cam," I lightly scolded for her screams. "Cam!" A little louder when they didn't cease. "Camille!" She looked up at me, heaving and sobbing, clinging painfully to my arms. "Mark's gone. Lamb had plenty of time to destroy his mind."

Camille gnawed on her bottom lip to keep herself from crying as Delta unloaded shotgun shell after shotgun shell into Mark's chest. He fell with a loud groan and Camille collapsed to her knees in hysterics (pulling me down with her) watching what little life her friend had slip away with the dimming of the lights pouring out of the portholes. Cindy was collected on to Delta's shoulder and brought over to the sobbing woman. I nudged her away from my chest and focused her attention on Cindy.

Cindy scrambled away to Delta's legs when he tried to put her down next to the woman, but with another reassurance from him she stood in front of Camille cocking her head slightly to the left. Like a little bird.

Camille slowly raised a hand to the girl, withdrawing only a little when Cindy flinched back from the hand like it was going to bite her. See the hand as no threat, the little girl reached for the hand and took a few of Camille's fingers in her grasp. Camille's choked sobbing only got worse as she pulled Cindy slowly into an awkward sort of hug. It was then that I felt it was okay to let Camille go so that she may embrace her goddaughter.

Delta gave a low groan and I pulled Camille away so that Delta could properly deal with the Little Sister. He gently placed his hand on her head and in a brilliant flash of white Cindy was placed back on the floor. Her eyes were no longer their sickly glowing yellow, her skin was still pale, but not florescent and for just a moment, she was the Cindy Meltzer that Camille had seen grow up. She looked up at Delta, curtsied and said, "Thank you!"

She turned back to Camille and smiled before throwing her little arms around the woman's neck. Camille scooped her up and held her close, getting to her feet. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," She whispered, kissing Cindy's hair repeatedly.

She walked to the other end of the hallway where a Little Sister vent was and placed her inside the hole. "Go find Tenenbaum. Don't stop for anybody. Not even Lamb. Tenenbaum will take care of you."

"What about you?" She asked mournfully. She had just lost her father – she didn't want to see Camille die as well. I clenched my hands into fists. Dammit, we were going to get topside this time; this slug be damned.

Camille spun around sharply when Cindy disappeared into the vast network of vents that only the Little Sisters could fit in for their own safety. "Why didn't I think of this before? Why doesn't Delta just use his plasmid on you? Get rid of the slug!"

"Then why doesn't he use it on the Big Sisters instead of killing them?" I responded. She froze her tirade. "I've already been exposed to plasmids changing the slug's genes already. It wouldn't work."

Camille sighed in defeat, feeling her world slowly being beaten into submission. "I really am cursed…"

"If anyone's cursed it's me," I said more as a reminder to myself.

Nothing good would be given to me. I was desperately hanging on to whatever I had which was only Sinclair at this point. Even Grace had stopped being a good thing. Camille had stopped being a good thing the moment she was on that sub topside and then proceeded to come back. Sinclair was the last thing that I had left and over my dead body would Lamb take him from me. Of course knowing Lamb: that could be arranged.

Camille swallowed hard, wiping her face to rid herself of the tears. Eyes blotched red, she tried to regain herself but her composure would threaten to lose itself when she would look at Mark's body. I could only keep silent.

Delta groaned loud, snapping her out of whatever trance she was in. "We have to keep moving," I said. "Find Eleanor. Get the hell out of here. I've waited too long for this to be stuck here again."

Camille nodded and gestured for Delta to take the lead while we tried to find more of those polyps that Gil had mentioned. Television screens and monitors were hooked up to the various seats and a large circular platform that looked like it was designed to hold someone still while they performed whatever unspeakable things to the victim. "Is this where they made the Big Daddies?" I asked placing my hand on the straps of the chair.

Camille shook her head. "No. This is where they played God and watched the prisoners scream."

"Delightful." Delta yanked the ADAM plant out from the roots and stuffed it into one of the numerous straps going around his body.

I glanced up to hear the faint pained howl of an Alpha Series somewhere in Fontaine Futuristics, then glanced back at Delta. The man awakened from the monster, I decided was a good way to describe the mostly silent companion.

It was quiet the rest of the trek to find the ADAM plants aside from shouting for ammo and for the other to duck. Sinclair even chimed in from time to time with tidbits about Fontaine Futuristics that Camille would reply that she could have told us that. I always shook my head during those times since I figured out it was Sinclair's attempts to not feel so alone in the train car; for some form of noise aside from manic giggling of splicers.

The last ADAM plant was collected and the last Little Sister dealt with for Tenenbaum to collect. The Big Sister was something I did not enjoy going up against, but Delta did most of the work. I noted how he purposely drew the Sister's attention away from Camille and me, taking the brunt of the attacks with the full knowledge that he could take it. When she fell, we headed back to Gil's tank. Camille stuffed the ADAM plants into the slot and hit the controls, allowing the processor to pump the liquefied plants into his tank.

" _NOTICE TO ALL EMPLOYEES! Subject Delta is hereby dismissed! Escort him from the premises! Capture Subject Donovan. Do as you please with Ms. Adler!"_ Alex the Great commanded and every nerve in my body came went rigid. Capture. Like they would take me alive.

I backed up and straight into Camille's back, not moving. "Ready?" I questioned, crossbow pressed comfortingly into my shoulder with a bolt locked in place.

"Been ready."

I smirked at the answered and turned to the left, letting a bolt fly into the head of a splicer poking out from cover with a machine gun. Rinse and repeat. Delta slammed into the body of an Alpha Series that came sprinting from the Test Subject Surgery wing, rivets flying in our general direction. I yanked Camille down from one that flew way too close to her head and flipped over her, planting my foot into the chest of a splicer armed with only a pipe.

Another Alpha Series shot up the stairs, but I had failed to see it until Camille had screamed, "WATCH OUT!"

The wind rushed away from my lungs when the grenade launcher connected with my stomach. It raised me well off the ground quick enough that for just a second, I was airborne until its hand wrapped around my thin neck. I kicked and scratched at his arm, but no avail; the diving suit protecting him from my feeble attempts to get away. My hands felt warm and in an instant, they were engulfed in flames. "PISS OFF!" I choked out allowing one of my hands to pull away from his wrist and blow a fireball into his helmet, catching the brute off guard.

"JAMIE!" Camille shouted, slamming her shoulder into the Alpha Series' stomach, knocking it off balanced. The grip was released and I slammed into the ground, coughing violently. The flames around my hands faded and disappeared.

Camille stuffed the end of the shotgun nearly underneath the diving helmet and blew the thing's brains all over the inside of the helmet. A solid slug, damn. She scooped up the crossbow I didn't even realize I dropped and was by my side in an instant, pulling my arm over her shoulders.

I didn't even realize the fight was over until I heard Gil say, _"How dare you try to… buy me out with this… this bribe… this… pittance. This… sublime… GOD DAMN YOU, DELTA!"_ The grotesque monster that emerged to feed on the residue made me cringe and Camille to be visibly shaken by the vast difference.

Sinclair laughed over the radio and praised, _"Perfect, you reeled him in – now, use that console there to take a gene sample. It should print up a genetic key automatically!"_ Delta did as instructed in the long arms came out, stabbing their needles into Gil's enlarged shoulders. There was a small ding from the console and the key popped right out. Delta took it seeing as how Camille was too busy supporting my weight. _"You got the key to Lamb's hideout, sport – Eleanor's down there! Now jus' head out to the Oxy-Fill station and use it. Jamie, darling, you know what to do. You okay?"_

"Peachy…" I replied shifting off of Camille's support.

The telly clicked on again and sane Gil spoke, _"It is done. The sample disposal button on the panel in front of you will administer a massive jolt of electricity to the tank, more than enough to kill me. Whatever I may say to dissuade you, do not listen. The man whose voice you hear now is long gone. As my mind fades, I find my thoughts turn to the suffering that Eleanor will be made to endure, and I am overcome with pity. But I can only offer my feeble prayers. Perhaps after my death, you can do more. Now please… I ask you grant me peace. Goodbye, my friend. And thank you."_

"Nothing about the fate of me," I muttered. "Figures." I flinched when the slug twisted around.

Delta looked to us for a moment before letting his hand hit the button, ending the poor wretch's life in a display of electricity, leaving us to hear his dying screams for the rest of our lives. "Sorry Gil," Camille said holding her shotgun a little closer to her person.

"I'm not," I responded to her, my hand falling to the lower portion of my stomach where the slug laid. "We'll meet you there."

Delta groaned and thudded off to the get to the Oxy-Fill station and Camille and I were in the vents, her complaints silent this time. I could feel her baring holes in my back. The display of plasmid power obviously did not go unnoticed. It wasn't something I would sanely use, detesting plasmids. For a moment, I had lost control, self-preservation kicking in.

The slug was starting to win.

Persephone was still as cold as I remembered it when I turned into the familiar narrow vents (Camille was surprised at the cramped vents, I didn't bother to tell her it was a security measure for if Sinclair had dropped the place into the trench). _"Persephone,"_ Sinclair chimed in. _"We're finally here. Find Eleanore, son – and fast. Her mamma's got all Rapture dyin' to keep you two apart… Jamie and Camille should be arrivin' momentarily."_

My blood boiled when Lamb also came on, _"I wonder, Delta, do you know why you are here? Have you any idea what my daughter has given you? As I watch you now, I envy your ignorance. You still believe…"_

"I believe I'll put my boot up your ass." Camille loudly sighed at my angry statement.

"How much farther?"

"The other exits are in spider splicer nests. More space around them. We're going to one that's going to be a bit of a squeeze, but we'll manage," I explained briefly.

It was also where I had a vague idea of where Eleanor was being kept: Quarantine. As an added bonus, it meant I would pass by the 'therapy' rooms with familiar tables that I was strapped to during my time in Lamb's custody.

I pulled open the vent cover with a bit of struggle due to the cramped nature of the ducts. We dropped down just before Delta came thudding down the hallway from the therapy rooms. "This is it," I said walking toward the sliding doors. The bulkhead slid open automatically and in the middle was Quarantine surrounded by candles to give the feeling of being in the presence of the divines.

We approached the glass walls and inside the room styled for a little girl than a teenager was none other than Eleanor Lamb, sound asleep in her bed. _"That's her, son! Eleanor Lamb. No matter what you might be feelin' right now: this is business. Get that cage open – she's comin' with us!"_

Delta quickly approached the doors and pulled the switch to unseal the quarantine locks. _"How will she remember us, after this moment? I have placed my pieces on the board, as expected – as have you,"_ Lamb said with a solemn tone to her voice, unlike the malice from earlier. _"Is this what she hoped for? Mother and father, locking eyes… yet still we are blind. Goodbye, Subject Delta – and take heart, for you at least have escaped your legacy… As for you, Miss Donovan, you're capture is of importance. You will not die with them."_

A pair of screeches nearly deafened those of us still mostly human. Camille and I clamped our hands over our ears for just a moment to try and shield them, but the ringing had set in. Two Big Sisters dropped from the ceiling and charged us, but ignored me for the most part going for Camille and Delta. "Camille!" I shouted pulling her behind me, taking advantage of the 'No Kill' order.

That didn't hinder the Big Sister in the slightest. I couldn't stop the attack that followed, but only was thankful that the needle wouldn't pierce Camille as I used my body as a shield. Camille would not die here and I would _not_ let Lamb take me alive. I could barely register Camille screaming as the elongated needle pierced my abdomen completely through. My bad luck was definitely at work since it missed the slug, judging from the twitching still going on in my abdomen. "Jamie!" I heard Camille scream, but all I could hear was my shoulder screaming in blinding pain.

The Big Sister raised me off the ground, my hand clutched in Camille's. She didn't dare pull lest she damage my stomach even more than the Sister was doing. "No…" Camille whispered in her shock, my blood splattered across her face.

I looked down at Camille for a brief moment and then the Sister pulled me away, jerking my hand away from Camille's. I coughed and tasted metallic liquid - my own blood.

For a moment, my life flashed before my eyes, every pain, heartbreak, torture, and death, everything darting past my eyes. From my mother, to Patrick, to Sinclair, memories that I thought I forgot and memories I didn't want to remember. _"JAMIE!"_ I heard Sinclair scream almost in agony over the radio. That was the last thing I would hear from Sinclair before the Sister crushed my radio.

Lamb had won.

That was the worse realization as the Sister carried me through Persephone. Death was preferable. The pain became so blinding, that I couldn't stop the darkness from taking me.

* * *

_There was a tangle of limbs and sweat on top of the musty mattress of the security room in Ryan Amusements. A gasp of completion mimicked by another, more baritone than the first. Blue eyes meeting green, twin pants breathing each other in. "I love you," He whispered, kissing my swollen lips. He fell to the mattress besides me, pulling me into his warm embrace. Cleaning up was the last thing on our minds. His hand fell to the slight swell of my abdomen, stroking and soothing. "And I love you," He said with a tender smile._

_I smiled in return, lacing my fingers over the hand on my abdomen. "What do you think it'll be?"_

" _I'm hopin' for a girl," He admitted, kissing a knuckle of my hand. "Name her Josephine. That was my mother's name."_

_An odd sense of déjà vu flew over me. I had this conversation already. I looked away for only a second, but as I glanced back, I could stop the scream. A Big Sister loomed over me, needle poised over the baby bump. She drove the needle down, but disappeared before impact. I looked down quickly and quickly assessed that the swell was gone, the dreadful feeling returning of absolute loss._

_Camille grabbed my hand, pulling me into a bathysphere. Jack, Tenenbaum and the former Little Sisters were with them. "No! I can't leave Sinclair!" I argued, finding myself unable to pull my hand from her inhuman grip._

_I fell back on my bum the moment she and the others vanished again leaving me in the company of a Big Sister charging me._

I awoke screaming.

I was upright and slightly suspended, but my arms burned, the metal bindings suspending me bit into any exposed flesh I had which was a lot. There was an IV drip connected to my left arm and from the looks of the liquid it was ADAM. Monitors whizzed and beep with vital signs and various other measurements – keeping track of the damn slug. I lacked proper clothing, finding the hospital gown a bit drafty, but could see the armor of a Big Sister lying on a nearby counter top. I tried to stand on my own two feet, but that had failed as my knees gave out. I winced as the collapse put unnecessary strain on my sore shoulders.

" _Attention! Augustus Sinclair has been spotted within the facility. He will attempt to reach Jamie Donovan and Subject Delta. All family duties are hereby suspended until he is found!"_ Lamb's voice echoed over the PA system and I found myself on my feet again, pulling frantically at my chains.

"Augustus!" I shouted as if he could hear me, but just saying his name made my attempts stronger. "Sonnova bitch!" I cursed as blood trickled down my forearms. I only paused when I heard the screech of a Big Sister, meaning he had been found. I couldn't stop my tears in the lingering feeling of dread. "Augustus…" I choked on a sob as my world shattered. Sinclair was gone for sure, killed at the hands of a Big Sister. And I wasn't given the chance to tell him I love him one last time.

My whole body wracked with sobs, uncontrolled and unapologetic. As cheesy as it sounded, my heart ripped into pieces and the slug took more control, ceasing almost all voluntary movement of my body. "Hold him steady," I heard Sofia say before the door to the lab opened.

I lunged at her, ignoring the pull at my shoulders. "You bitch! You fuckin' bitch, what are you goin' to do to 'im? Kill him?!" I screamed uncontrollably.

"Quite the contrary," She stated gesturing for the splicers behind her to enter. "Sinclair is very much alive even after his useless attempt to steal you from us." 'Rescue' was not a word Lamb would use; not with her twisted beliefs that I was going to join their Family – willing or not. "Sinclair will be put to use. For the Family."

"For the love of God, please. You can do whatever you want to me. Beat me, hurt me, even _kill_ me, but please don't touch him," I begged. I didn't care anymore, I just didn't want this woman to touch Sinclair. To stop hurting him and let him go. "He's not a threat to you. I'm the threat. Sinclair is useless without me. Please, you've won. Let him go."

"You misunderstand my intentions. I have no interest in killing Sinclair, as much as it would please me. I believe that everyone has a place in the Utopia I am assisting in creating even Sinclair. Even you."

I shook my head. "You're delusional. You've gone so far into your own con that even you believe it."

Lamb paced the length of the room, picking up a clipboard. There was a radio balanced in the crook of her elbow, crackling with chatter. I listened in only to realize that it was Eleanor speaking. " _This is Sinclair's lifeboat, Father, out the window here. It's our only chance of escape!"_ Eleanor explained. They got Delta free already? What about Sinclair?

" _But… Augustus wouldn't just abandon it. He said he'd meet us here."_ Camille was a welcomed voice through the radio. Lamb set down the small metal box and turned up the volume so that I could hear them.

"Yes, Delta, what of Sinclair?" Lamb said into the speaker. The man who would sell Paradise… and where is he now?"

I glared at her and shouted, "You have to find him! Get him out!" She cut off the transmission so they couldn't hear me shout any more.

" _Jamie?!"_ Camille gasped. _"Jamie! Please, answer me!"_

" **Warning. A security curfew is now in effect. All cells and bulkheads are sealed until further notice,"** an automated announcement went off along with several alarms that rang through the building.

"This facility hangs over an ocean trench. But you know that of course, Miss Adler. The Family has activated timed charges within its foundations. Surrender before detonation, or we shall fall and be crushed in the abyss below," Lamb warned the wayfaring trio who responded by shouting for my release. She set the radio down on the counter again and glanced up at me.

"Where. Is. Sinclair," I grounded out between clenched teeth and yellowing eyes. My hands were alight, threatening to burn anything around me.

"Sinclair is undergoing the same transformation as you. One," She took a step closer to me. "Last." Another step. "Alpha Series."

I lunged at her, screaming in rage in a desperate attempt to cause some sort of damage to her horn-rimmed glasses at the very least. She reached around my rigid body and pressed _something_ on one of the monitors. I screamed as a jolt of electricity shot through my body originating from my wrists. The chains were _electrified_. I fell to my knees once more gasping for what little air I had. I let out a sob of pure defeat, finally broken. Lamb had taken _everything_ from me and I would never see it again. Not the surface. Not my child. Not Sinclair.

There was a knock on the door and Lamb answered it. "It's complete," A splicer reported, hunched over in a way that seemed painful.

Lamb let a smirk mar her features. "And now, it's your turn," She said gesturing for the splicer to approach me. She walked over to the numerous machines around me and flipped a switch. Electricity coursed through my body again and I couldn't stop myself from screaming. "Protect the Family," she commanded.

"Fuck you..." Again she flipped the switch.

The slug twitched under the repeated electrocution flooding my veins with ADAM in its own form of self-preservation. Ultimately, it speed up the process that I would turn into whatever Lamb desired. It was trial and error because I knew of no one else that turned into a Big Sister without starting out as a Little Sister.

A female splicer poked her head into the room and said, "He's ready."

Lamb left a Splicer in charge of my torture. He took great joy in electrocuting me, leaving it on for longer and longer periods - cackling as I twitched and convulsed and screamed. He left it on too long... too long... too long.

Heat ran through my body, building up and I screamed uncontrollably which seemed to break the barrier fire burst from my body, incinerating anything in the room in a brilliant and instant blaze. The Splicer screamed for a brief second before I heard a thud and the smell of burnt flesh. My shackles were red hot, but I couldn't feel it - I wasn't being burned by it. It snapped and allowed me to fall to the ground. I couldn't catch myself, I couldn't move anything to stop me from slamming into the ground. I curled in on myself, feeling more exposed than before. The slug twitched and settled in, finally gaining control over my body, filling my body with ADAM as a food source.

The yellow tinge in my eyes made reality even worse. I closed my eyes and let exhaustion take me.


	34. Chapter 34

My head felt heavy. My limbs felt like they were held down and I couldn’t even open my eyes. They felt like they were glued shut. "Help…" I croaked – my throat dry and I found I was unable to open my eyes or even twitch a muscle.

I tried to remember where I was, but was drawing a blank like I was hitting a brick wall put up to keep me from my memories. "Protect the Family." The voice was crystal clear, all the white noise being drowned out.

Sofia Lamb, my mind supplied the name.

I tried to focus on _something_. Sinclair… Who is that? Sin… Who? I can’t focus, oh god. Why can’t I focus? _"You and me, we're goin' places."_ Where? Who are you? Fucking… Sofia… Lamb… Lamb of God… God… Family… My Family… Lamb… Protect… Sinclair… Protect… Protect the Family. Kill Subject Delta.

My eyes finally opened, gazing upon the visage of Dr. Sofia Lamb who smiled. "Do you know where you are?" She questioned slowly.

I shook my head. I glanced down at my body, noting the diving suit and a large needle attached to my arm. Big Sister. The word felt foreign, but accurate. "You are with the Family now. _Your_ Family," she said. Her smile surprisingly soothing, accepting, motherly, but cold.

She stood up from her seat, a helmet tucked under her arm. "Take this. And protect the Family. Kill Subject Delta. Subject Omega awaits you."

I latched the helmet into place and, without another word, took off in a mad sprint, unsure of where I was going, but my legs seemed to carry me there.

Memories of this place flooded into me, faces blurry and out of focus. Memories of voices distorted. But I could hear Lamb's: Protect the Family. Kill Subject Delta. Subject Omega awaits me.

I was in a prison –Persephone– a place I could only remember in a dream. Subject Omega stumbled around the holding cells, clutching a key in his hand like it was life itself. He only looked at me before stumbling out of the cell blocks. I followed, quietly, astutely. He would lead me to Subject Delta.

Subject Omega stumbled up a set of stairs toward a security checkpoint. He pressed his hands against the glass, the key clanking against the smooth surface. On the other side of the glass were three people: another Alpha Series just as Subject Omega, a person dressed like me, and a blonde woman with bright blue eyes. _Camille._ Omega pushed off the glass and shoved past me, running back toward the cell blocks.

I glanced back at the people rushing through the door, two of them stopping while the Big Daddy kept running. I let out a screech I didn't know I could even make and lunged at Camille who screamed and staggered out of the way of the wild needle lunge. "Kill her!" The other girl shouted her own needle crossing with mine.

I shoved her back only to screech again when a heavy red wrench came down on my leg. The bone broke under the swing and they took the moment to escape into the dark abyss of the prison. I shivered as my bones mended and snapped back into place. "I thought all the Big Sisters were dead!" I heard Camille shout to her companions.

I stood up again and gave chase.

"She must be the last one then.” There was a small pause. “Or a new one."

It didn’t take me long to catch up with them. So _slow_. Camille was the first to notice me and picked up the pace, ushering her companions forward – yelling, “Faster!” Her attempts to get away were amusing, feeble and pointless. To protect the Family, she and Subject Delta must die. Eleanor returned to Sofia Lamb.

They sprinted through the doors of the cell blocks, the door slamming shut in my face. I pounded angrily on the door, screeching like a banshee. "Wait…" I heard Camille say. She looked through the reinforced window and pressed her hand to it. "A new Big Sister you said?" Eleanor nodded.  "It can't be… Jamie?"

" _Kid… I'm sorry…"_ I perked up at the voice. It was… familiar… I knew it very well. My heart swelled for a reason unknown to me. I felt warm with an underlining sense of dread. _"I've… I've locked you in here… Lamb's makin' me dance on her goddamn strings… I… I could at least keep Jamie from killin' you. Yeah, that Big Sister is none other than Jamie Donovan…"_ Jamie Donovan. That was my name. Sin… I shook my head rapidly. Who…? Sin… Clair… Sinclair…

"Sinclair! Open the door! Let her inside!" Camille shouted up at him. "We can help her! Like we'll help you!"

" _I can't stop… You're gonna have to break in here and… and put me down. Wish there was… another way… But I'd rather die a man than live like this… Jamie… I'm sorry… If you manage to help her, tell her I love her."_

"No…" Camille shook her head.

"God… He's right, Father. Mother's betting you'll die in here, or that I'll abandon you before the bombs detonate. We can't save Sinclair now… We need that key from him!"

Camille grabbed Eleanor's diving suit and shook her roughly, "Have you gone mad?! Kill Sinclair?! Jamie is right there! If we can help her, we can help Sinclair!"

"I don't even know if we can help Jamie!"

"Tenenbaum assured me it would work!" Camille argued. “It would kill the slug! That’s what she said!”

“But it’s not a slug that’s inside Sinclair!”

I slammed my fist on the window, putting a crack in it. The action startled the occupants inside before going back to arguing. I backed up and looked to the ceiling. A vent! I tore the helmet off my head along with the air tank for room and jumped up into the cramped and familiar space, crawling through to the next opening. Camille screamed as I fell through the vent, charging at her with my needle extended. I barely registered Delta slamming into me until I was pinned to the wall with a drill stabbing into my shoulder and pinning me there.

Omega came running down the gangway with Eleanor hot on his heels. "Do it!" Camille shouted firing off a few shots to ward off Omega's attack and keep his attention off Delta.

I watched as Delta held up his hand, an eerie glow emitting from his gloved hand. I hissed and growled in my struggle to get away until the hand rested on my head. I froze as a feeling of warmth flooded through me, then a brief moment of a stabbing pain in my stomach. I coughed violently and Delta allowed me to fall to the floor. Out came red ooze instead of blood and it took me to realize that it was ADAM. Like a backhand to the face, everything hit at once and hit hard like getting run over by a train.

I looked up in time to see Eleanor drive her needle through Sinclair's chest. Time seemed to slow down as he fell, the damage he sustained becoming too much to bear. "NO!" I screamed, shoving Delta away from me.

I winced as my shoulder gave a painful throb before the last remaining ADAM substance in me closed the wound. I stumbled down the stairs drunkenly and grabbed the helmet that blocked my access to Sinclair's face. I unlatched it hastily and threw it away revealing the bald pale head of Augustus Sinclair.

Very gently, I traced the top of his head, tracing the visible veins he had. "Hey…" He greeted weakly, blood pooling out of the corner of his lips. "Glad… to see you back with us…" He coughed violently, blood splattering my cheek only to be washed away with tears I hadn't realized I was shedding.

"Don't leave me," I begged holding his head to my chest, ignoring the various tubes and pieces of metal digging into my stomach.

He chuckled and said, "Darlin'… You know as well as I that I'm…" He shivered in pain. "…that I'm not goin' to make it. I love you."

"I love you too," I regretted saying. It was a goodbye.

He looked to Delta who stood vanguard over us. He let out a horrible choking cough before saying, "So long… kid…" He coughed again. "Thank you…" His eyes went blank.

And just like that, Augustus Sinclair was gone.

I patted his cheek, searching for a reaction. "No... No, no, no, no, NO! You're not allowed to leave me! You're all I have! Augustus! Please!" I begged, screamed and cried, shaking him imagining he was going to awaken and ask me why I was shaking him. I couldn’t control the tears and sobbing, the clawing pain in my chest tearing me apart, my arms losing the ability to even move him anymore. I kissed his mouth frantically, praying, _begging_ for him to kiss back. Just once. That's all I wanted. "Come back…" I whimpered.

My begging would never be answered and just like that, I had lost _everything_.

I flinched violently when Camille rested her hand on my shoulder. "We have to keep moving…" She whispered, tears streaming down her face as well.

"I'm so sorry, Father. I don't know if you were close. Take the key when you're ready," Eleanor spoke, ignoring me. Her voice slightly muffled by the helmet she still wore.

I gritted my teeth. " _I’m sorry_ _?_ That’s all you can say? You didn’t even try to save ‘im!” I stood up abruptly, hands erupting into flames. I grabbed her by the collar of her suit before she had the chance to react, shaking her violently. “You didn’t even try. ‘e worked hard to save you an’ you…” I trailed off, unable to find the words. Just rage bubbled in my throat.

"Jamie!" Camille scolded, grabbing my arms and pulling in a failed attempt to get me to release the young girl.

I finally let the flames dissipate and Camille slowly let me go. I went back to Sinclair's body, pressing my face against his as his skin started to lose its color and warmth. My bottom lip quivered as another set of tears threatened to escape.

Camille took the key from Sinclair's hand and handed it to Delta. "Take this and go," She ordered. The pair didn't argue and walked off to unlock the doors and reverse the security lockdown.

I could feel her tentatively kneel next to myself and Sinclair, placing a cautious hand on my shoulder. "Jamie…" She whispered, "…you have to let him go."

"You don't get it, Camille," I said looking up at her. "Augustus was the _only_ thin' I had left. Lamb took everythin'. Took Grace. Took my child. Took my humanity for a moment. And now, she's taken Sinclair. If I don't see that bitch drown, I will personally drown 'er myself, even if it kills me."

Camille's lips thin at the declaration. The place went dark for just a second as an alarm sounded off.

“ **Override engaged. Ending security curfew. Sealing security office temporarily.”**

Camille glanced around only to freeze when she heard the angry shouts of several Alpha Series. I stood up slowly as well, both hands igniting with Incinerate. "You want to play? Let's play," I growled low and dangerous completely intent to kill any that stood in my way to Lamb.

The first that came sprinting I hurled a fireball at before using telekinesis to lift him clear off the ground. With a flick of my wrist, I sent him flying into another that dared to charge Camille.

 _"Sinclair died a hero of the Rapture Family, Delta. Was he a friend to you, or just a tool? Can you even grasp the difference?"_ Lamb came over the radio resulting in a burst of pure rage and another poor sod was set aflame, this time not surviving the encounter. _"Miss Donovan, your betrayal is most disappointing. You had a duty to the Family."_

"PISS! OFF!" I shouted – telekinetically lifting several heavy objects around the room and slamming them into several more Alpha Series and a stray splicer.

I felt my nose drip with blood, my body not used to the exertion of plasmid use.

"Jamie…" Camille tried to speak but was interrupted by an Alpha Series about to launch a frag grenade at her.

She ducked under the frag and slid up to the Alpha Series, stuffing the end of her shotgun into the port hole and firing off. He dropped and she was on to the next one.

_"And Eleanor… you have chosen Subject Delta over your mother, your people and the duty of your birth. So be it. You believe this craft will carry Delta to safety, like a spoiled child with a new toy. I have no choice but to take it away…"_

**“Curfew lifted. All cell blocks open. All bulkhead seals released.”**

Delta and Eleanor came charging out of the security booth – plasmids and weapons going off to take down the last of the Alpha Series and prisoners trying to scatter. The last fell and they took off, but I stayed standing where I was. Camille stopped following the two and looked back at me.

"Jamie?"

"I'm not leavin' Sinclair 'ere."

"I'm not leaving you behind again!" Camille shouted, grabbing my arms roughly.

I removed her hands from my arms and walked over to Sinclair's corpse, removing the buckles and various pieces of diving suit until he was left in the bare body suit of the Big Daddy suit. I frowned at the holes in the suit from Eleanor’s attacks. She swallowed the bile that threatened to come up. "Lamb's hasty convergence left him with a body still," I rattled off. "He's not grafted into the suit. Just a puppet to cause some turmoil for Delta and for yourself." I held his cooling shoulders tenderly, his head lolling back. "I promised I would get him out of Rapture."

Taking advantage of my newfound strength, I hooked my other arm under his knees and lifted him. "He's lost weight again. Bastard," I mumbled walking quietly to the lifeboat docking station.

Camille nodded and followed with her shotgun reloaded and set to kill anything that got in our way. There was barely anything in our way aside from the stray splicer that Delta and Eleanor missed which was easily taken out with a few shells or fireballs.

" _Every moment tears Eleanor further from me, Delta. Soon, this father obsession will end her. You have left me without want… before you die, I will take all that you hold dear. Sinclair is just another body in your wake."_

I glanced down at Sinclair's face, bruised and slightly bleeding from the damage sustained during the fight against Delta, Camille and Eleanor. If one looked past that, it would almost seem like he was sleeping. He looked a little strange without hair, but I could still picture him smiling at me like it was only yesterday. "You're not just a body. You came after him. And me. You were his friend," I stated, my former temper dwindling for now – to be saved for Lamb.

The docking bay was empty when we arrived, but Camille cursed seeing smoke coming from the main floor. "Lamb's bombed out the ballast compressors," She said.

“English.”

"It means the lifeboat will be too heavy to launch," Camille clarified.

"Okay, so the only way we could get that thing to rise is if we boil away the water."

Camille looked at me surprised at the knowledge. "There's not much to do around Rapture when you're 'ere for 8 years longer than you should be. Readin' distracted you from hunger too," I explained, setting Sinclair's body so that he was leaning against the viewing glass. "Eleanor and Delta must be rounding up the Little Sisters. Together, they can all boil away the water."

We felt the tremor of an explosive going off. "Oh no… They're starting to detonate the charges," Camille gasped, wringing her hands around the barrel of her shotgun.

"Then let's hope Eleanor and Delta hurry up. Or else getting the lifeboat to launch will be the least of our concerns," I said standing close to Sinclair's body in a protective manner.

Another charge went off a little later while we waited; only seeing Delta and Eleanor when they crossed to the Infirmary from the Pediatric Wing. Sinclair had slid from the second tremor so that he was leaning against my thigh now. There was a burst of purple behind us and we nearly jumped out of our skins seeing Eleanor standing inside of the ballast tank. "Eleanor!" Camille called, putting her hand on the glass.

Delta came into the area shortly after and Eleanor addressed him with a nod. "Come up to the glass once you're ready for me to begin. There's no going back once we start."

About 6 Little Sisters popped up in the same Houdini manner as Eleanor and all stepped into the water to begin boiling it away with the powers ADAM had given them. "Jamie, could you help us as well?"

I looked down at Sinclair and then back at Eleanor. "Fine."

With a bit of concentration, every molecule in my body burst apart in a red mist then reformed inside the ballast tank. Camille jumped and I gave her a small apologetic look. "Take care of him."

She nodded and stood close to Sinclair's body just as I had. I repeated the same process of heating up the outer layer of my body and stepped further into the water with Eleanor and the Little Sisters. Everything was quiet at first until we heard Lamb come over the radio once again. _"You would rip my only daughter from her home and family and feed her to a world without hope. Though Utopia may die with her, I would sooner see us fall! Goodbye, Eleanor. Mother will be waiting for you."_

"Here they come, father!" Eleanor warned. "Hold them off until I can bring it to a boil!"

Camille slunk back against the glass, position herself so that she would take any shot headed toward Sinclair's body to insure that it wasn't damaged.

I tore my mind away from those thoughts and concentrated on raising the heat to bring it to a boil as fast as we could. We could hear them fighting off whoever came at them, fighting desperately to stay alive. "Nearly boiling…" Eleanor reported, looking around at the bubbles that were forming. "It's boiling! I can help you fight back, now! Use the Plasmid!"

I ignored her and dispersed again, appearing in front of Camille in time to stab my needle through the gut of a brute splicer. "You will not touch her!" I growled pushing him back and lighting him aflame.

"I've done it, Father! The ballast water is gone! Release the docking mechanism!"

Delta ran up the stairs to the controls and flipped the switch causing the pipes above us to burst. "The elevator to the lifeboat is flooded, father! We have to equalize the pressure in here or the door won't open!" Eleanor shouted launching fireball after fireball at another brute. "Destroy those glass tubes to flood the room!"

I grabbed a hold of Camille and scooped Sinclair into my arms holding them both to me. "When I tell you to, hold your breath," I advised, watching Delta take aim at the pipes.

The bullets pierced through the glass and each shattered, the water flooding in. When he shot the second one, I shouted, "NOW!" Camille and I each took a deep breath and held it as the second glass tube exploded, the room flooding instantly with water.

The pressure almost blacked me out and I looked to Camille to make sure she was still conscious. She was, holding tightly to my diving suit. I pulled her through the water, still holding tightly to Sinclair kicking with all my might to the elevator.

Delta grabbed a hold of my suit and pulled me faster than I could through the water and the elevator where Eleanor was waiting. Camille let out an air bubble, indicating she was losing air, I held her to me, looking at Sinclair's lifeless body. His limbs were just floating, no movement. I didn't know what I was hoping for. Maybe for the sudden coldness of the water to wake him up? I didn't know. All I knew was that I was going to keep my promise.

The elevator rose up until we were out of the water; Camille and I breathing in welcomed air.

The last explosive charge went off and Eleanor shouted, "The bombs! We're falling! Run!"

I heaved Sinclair into my arms and took off after Camille and Eleanor, Delta taking up the rear in a mad dash to the lifeboat, except… Instead of the open door to the lifeboat waiting for us, it was the open door to the lifeboat blocked by a massive amount of explosives that was mere seconds away from going off. Eleanor glanced back and disappeared in a purple mist while I grabbed a hold of Camille, yanking her to me and mimicking the same. Delta was too far away to grab, meaning we had to leave him behind.

The explosives went off and the lifeboat started to flood with water as it launched; rocketing toward the surface. Lamb was inside as well, paddling for any pocket of air.

Camille swam away from me to a cabinet, yanking it open. There were air masks inside and she handed one to me which I pressed to my mouth, breathing in sweet air. Lamb kicked and flailed as hard as she could, getting nowhere. I watched with sadistic pleasure as she slowly started to drown holding Sinclair to my chest.

Delta appeared in the window, fatally wounded, but still alive and holding tightly to the railing. He made it. "And then, father, the Rapture dream was over," Eleanor said. "You taught me that evil is just a word; under the skin, it's simple pain."

Eleanor swam over to the window and pressed her hand to the same spot as Delta, like she was touching his hand. "For you, mercy was victory – you sacrificed, you endured and when given the chance… you forgave. Always."

She swam to the struggling Lamb and did the one thing that surprised me: allowed Lamb to drown. "But I understand that what mother has done is unforgivable. She's taken away everything from Jamie." Lamb grabbed a hold of her daughter in a final plea to save her. "Mother… I'm sorry."

Lamb finally ceased to move and I smiled, hugging Sinclair a little tighter. "Mother believed this world was irredeemable… but she was wrong, Father, we are Utopia, you and I. But I fear Jamie would kill me if I forgave her and let her live. Jamie, this is my gift to you." I nodded.

The craft finally broke to the surface, bathing us in sunlight.

Eleanor opened the door and allowed the water to drain out. Camille stepped out before me, smiling at the feeling of the sun again. Once again, I started to cry as I carried Sinclair out of the lifeboat. "The sun…" I said with a shaky voice.

Carefully, I set Sinclair on the metal walkway of the lifeboat before sitting on my knees next to him, holding him around his shoulders.

He'd gone stiff now, rigor mortis setting in. I relished the feeling of the sun once again on my face after so many years. "20 years and finally… The Surface," I whispered to him.

Camille wrapped her arms around my shoulders, comforting and supportive of the mental breakdown I would no doubt have later once the shock of the Surface settled in. The lighthouse was the same as I remember it as a young girl, barely 14 riding in the bathysphere with my mother. 20 years and I was finally free. To top it off, I kept my promise to Sinclair.

We watched Eleanor approach Delta who laid on the walkway too weak to even move his arms, much less sit up. She knelt next to him and positioned his hands over his chest reverently. She understood he was going to die and was giving him his final respects. What shocked us was that she positioned her needle over his chest and pierced it, draining the ADAM from him.

Then it was obvious: She was absorbing his mind, taking advantage of Lamb's conditioning of her. She detached the needle from her arm and walked to the edge of the lifeboat, sitting down. "Eleanor?" I asked.

She smiled. "The Rapture dream is over," She said – her smile widening. The former Little Sisters came out of the lifeboat as well, standing behind Eleanor to gaze at the vast ocean as well. One of them handed her a doll that the young woman had made which she dropped in the water. "The world is going to change," She said as she stood up. "And in our story: Rapture is just the beginning."


	35. Chapter 35

The apple orchard smelled wonderful, relighting the kindling of old memories and a calmness I hadn't felt in years. I stood barefoot at the edge of the orchard listening to the song of the wind, feeling the caress of the breeze and watching the leaves dance and sway with fresh, swollen, juicy apples adorning their branches. The harvest would begin soon no doubt meaning early mornings and late nights among the apples and twittering birds or the roar of the ocean only a few miles away. I could still picture the child that was once me running through the trees, weaving, spinning and dancing without a care in the world until her mother screamed for her. It was a time she could smile easily.

A small distance away from the orchard that mostly kept the trees healthy with water was a pond big enough to call for a paddleboat and to get a decent swim in. It was the home to cattails, tadpoles and frogs, dragonflies and most of all: a willow tree, old and graceful.

Beneath the willow tree were three headstones each with a name carved on the surface: Corporal Ian Donovan, 1915-1936; Dusky Donovan (putting up that headstone was much like pulling teeth since she didn't deserve a headstone next to my father), 1917-1958, Patrick Donovan, 1945-1960 and finally: Augustus Sinclair. It took some arguing with his still-alive mother (my mother-in-law), but she finally relented allowing for his body to be buried on the grounds of the Donovan Apple Orchard. It was a small funeral procession with just my grandparents and Sinclair's mother who still looked at me like I was the one who had killed Sinclair having been one of the last people to see him alive. She even doubted that me and him were in a relationship because, and I quote, "You don't look like any of the women my son has been with. You look like a beggar looking for scraps on a dead man's fortune! Harlot!"

She recanted the statements later even opening up Sinclair's saved funds to me, but it still stung that she would think that of me. It also made me question how many women Sinclair had been with but shoved the idea aside since he was around 20 years before I was born. I more or less earned her 'trust' when I told her everything about her son during his time in Rapture. She told me flat out to not lie like I did to the police and embassy representatives and so I didn't sugarcoat a thing. I still hadn't touched the money she had allowed me access to.

When we had escaped Rapture, it took three days for someone to find us after drifting several hundred miles. We were taken to a small port on the coast of Iceland where a team of ambulances, police men and news reporters were waiting for us after receiving word that the missing British girl who had been missing for over 20 years had been found alive. We were surprised to be met by Tenenbaum who had escaped from Rapture only a few hours before us.

It took two months to finally be released from the hospital since they were so adamant that I be pumped full of vitamins, nutrients and antioxidants to treat the malnourishment I had suffered from for nearly 25 years. On top of that, I had to prove my identity to the UK Embassy representative and get into contact with my grandparents.

Alice and Garrett flew out from their comfortable lives in the UK to see if it truly was me after 20+ years of not seeing myself or my mother. The reunion was tearful and heartwarming; I couldn't stop crying for several hours seeing their faces once again, truly believing that I was going to die in Rapture. They stayed with me in the hospital room for the final few weeks before I was released.

One by one the girls were returned home to their families who were more than ecstatic to see their daughters once more after nearly giving up hope. Some of the parents had even appeared in my room to thank me for bringing them back when I barely did anything except keep track of them as they showed up. It took a while to get them out of my room. I had to page a few nurses to get hysterical mothers off of me. I could live with them thanking me, but the physical contact was not something I was up for, not since the last person to hug me was Augustus.

Camille became Eleanor's adoptive mother, not being old enough to go out on her own just yet since she had no family on the surface that she was aware of. I officially met Camille's husband who flew out to see her just as my grandparents did. He was a nice enough man who rambled on and on about having a child of their own even though Camille confided in me that she was unable to bear children due to the damage she suffered in Rapture.

It was in that hospital that I also learned of the biggest life changing moment of my life.

Alice wandered over to me, placing a hand on my shoulder. Her hair gray and frail, but still full as I could remember in a hairstyle known as the wedge, her eyes the same color blue as myself with a bit more life to them than mine, and her skin tanned from working outdoors. "You should be inside resting," She said warmly, still in shock that she had her granddaughter back.

I smiled and turned to place my hands on her shoulders. "A few more minutes." She nodded in agreement and started her walk back to the house. I looked to Sinclair's grave once again, resting my hand on the cold stone. "I love you, Augustus," I muttered before the hand fell from the grave to my abdomen.

It was there I felt the firm kick of the child growing within me, the only thing Rapture hadn't taken from me at last. It seemed cliché like something out of a movie: the hero sacrifices himself leaving his widow alone with a child, but I could have cared less: this was one joy I was going to cherish. "The baby's gettin' big, Augustus, They're so strong. A survivor," I said like he was standing there listening to me yammer on. "I miss you."

I touched the grave one last time before making my trek back to the house where Alice and Garrett were waiting.

Garrett startled me when he came up behind me and pulled me under his arm giving me a wet kiss on the temple. He'd been overtly affectionate towards me, but I didn't condemn him for it for he was my grandfather and entitled to such things, getting his granddaughter back and discovering that she was pregnant with his great-granddaughter. And he was excited to relive the joy of having a baby in the house.

I smiled affectionately at the man, tucking myself further under his strong arms. My grandfather was a large man with big hands and large arms that could engulf you easily. Compared to my grandmother, who was petite and small, he was a giant of a man who could put a smile on anyone's face. He was an extreme lover and an extreme fighter who would fight anyone if they threatened him or his family (he had done it a few times coming home with bloody knuckles). His thick Santa Clause-like beard tickled my face and his blues eyes shined with life, just as my grandmother who always saw the silver lining in everything. He was stubborn as he was flexible which is who I must have gotten my attitude from for the most part; my stubbornness for sure.

He pushed open the door to the kitchen and slipped up to my grandmother, taking her in his arms and tucking a wildflower behind her ear. She giggled lovingly and pushed him away, telling him to help set the table for dinner. I took a stack of plates despite their protests that I should be resting and set the table with my grandfather carrying the silverware. I wolfed down the food Alice put out having to eat for two making them both chuckle. "I was the same way, dearie," Alice reminisced holding Garrett's hand. "Your father was a terror!" She laughed as Garrett heartily joined her laughter.

"I don't remember much of anything about my father," I admitted stirring the potatoes on my plate smothered in gravy.

Alice sighed, but smiled and proceeded to tell me all she could about Ian Donovan, the man who was my father. "Your father, when he heard that Dusky was pregnant, nearly flipped for joy at the idea of being a father. He was so looking forward to raising you, asking a million questions. But the war pulled him away and unfortunately you know the rest," She finished taking a sip of her lemon water. I nodded stroking my hand over the swollen belly I was growing.

I helped clear the table after everyone was finished eating and excused myself to my bedroom to get some rest. I laid down on the down pillows, pulling the comforter up to my chin to shield myself from the chilly night time air. I allowed myself to pretend that Sinclair was lying behind me wrapping his arms around my waist and stroking the babe he helped make, cooing and being in general awe that he was going to be a father… Like my own father had been. The stories Alice told me of him reminded me of Sinclair's reaction to me telling him that I was pregnant the first time. Sure, the first child didn't make it, but this one was going to make it – the doctors assured me.

And just like my father, he wouldn't get the chance to watch them grow.

Before I knew it, a few months had passed and I found myself in the hospital grasping Alice's and Camille's hands and screaming through the process of painful childbirth. The medication they gave me did very little to dull the pain. But the 36 hour labor was rewarded with the healthy wails of a beautiful baby girl. I was surprised that Camille had even made the flight in time for the birth having come only a few days before the predicted due date only for me to go into labor right as she got off the plane to meet Garrett. Garrett sped all the way to the hospital, Camille as white as a ghost from his crazy driving.

The baby girl was handed to me at long last from the doctors cleaning, weighing and measuring her. I held her gingerly, like she was made of glass and I was instantly in love with her. She nuzzled my breast as I fed her, her tiny fingers opening and curling back into a fist testing her newfound freedom. Camille cooed and wiggled her finger into the clenched fingers, smiling brightly when she felt the baby grip her finger tightly. "What's her name?" She asked quietly.

I smiled and answered, "Josephine Alice Sinclair."

A cradle was brought in to keep Josephine comfortable and to allow me to rest at long last. Alice and Camille were both unconscious in their chairs while the men leaned against each other on the nearby couch, James and Garrett having bonded over their excitement over the newborn baby of the woman who had saved Camille's life more than once.

I sighed heavily as the sleep drugs kicked in and I was out like a light, dreaming of emerald eyes and a soothing southern drawl.


	36. Chapter 36

My eyes shot open as the memories returned, my head throbbing and my shoulder screaming for relief. Delta moved away from me and it took all of my strength not to fall to the floor. I looked up at him before looking to Eleanor who was charging Sinclair with her needle poised to pierce his chest. "STOP!" I screamed, my hand shooting out releasing a pulse of telekinetic power.

Eleanor yelled as her body lifted off the ground preventing her from dealing the death blow, her legs kicking frantically for the ground.

With a flick of my wrist, I threw her clear across the room, into a cell so that she landed on the cushioned bed. Camille brought a wrench down roughly on his back forcing Sinclair to fall to his knees lacking the strength to keep standing. "Kill… me, Cam," He pleaded his arm struggling to raise the grenade launcher even an inch as his body lost most function. She pressed her foot on the top of the launcher and forced it to the ground, then kicked it off to the side so he'd be unable to use it.

"No. You won't die," I growled, staggering my way down the stairs. "I promised, dammit." I stumbled up to Sinclair. I was unable to see his face, but I could tell he was silently begging me to stay away. "I will _not_ let Lamb take you from me." I gripped his helmet, pulling on the latches. "Camille… Help me."

She reached over and undid the latches around his back, helping me pull the helmet off his head. He fell forward into my chest, my arms wrapping around him to steady him falling to my knees. "Augustus?" I questioned, wanting him to say _something_. Camille knelt beside us, her hand ghosting over the back of his bald head.

He still refused to look up at us, not wanting to attack us on impulse like Lamb had brainwashed him to do. "Augustus," I repeated, cupping his chin with the hand not armed with a needle.

"Lamb…" He muttered.

"You do not belong to her," I said, poising my needle over his stomach. "Lamb will not have you. You're mine." With that, I plunged my needle into his stomach, making Camille scream in shock. "Trust me," I said to her as the bottle at the end of the needle started to fill with ADAM.

He gripped my shoulders painfully tight, pushing away the feeling of pain and he finally looked up at me. The glowing yellow of his eyes was fading returning to their normal whites, the emerald color of his irises glittering once again. I pulled the needle out, extracting a pained groan from him and pressed my hand against the bleeding wound.

Camille pulled a med-kit from her pack and pressed a few gauze pads to the wound, another being pressed painfully against my shoulder eliciting a hiss from the both of us. "You both are the most stubborn people I have ever met," She said, removing her hand from the bandage to rest on the back of my head in a small gesture of affection. She looked to Sinclair, "How are you feeling?"

He answered, "Like a million bucks… I can't hear Lamb's voice anymore."

She smiled and I allowed her to pull him into a hug. "I thought we'd have to kill you," She cried petting the skin of his head.

I stood and tossed the key to Delta. "Time to get the hell out of 'ere," I said.

Camille and I got Sinclair to his feet and helped him to the security office, waiting patiently for Delta to finish collecting what supplies he'd need from the office and shutting off the security lockdown. A few minutes, my injuries healed. Sinclair's were taking longer to heal.

We could hear the screams of the Alpha Series as the lockdown ended; metal behemoths of rage and plasmids slamming against their cage doors.

**"Curfew lifted. All cell blocks open. All bulkhead seals released."**

"Cam, take the lead," I ordered, pulling Sinclair's arm over my shoulders and assisting him to his feet. He groaned in pain and leaned heavily on me for support.

Camille nodded and followed with her shotgun reloaded and set to kill anything that got in our way. Delta and Eleanor already took off, gunning down everything in their path. There was barely anything in our way aside from the stray splicer that Delta and Eleanor missed which was easily taken out with a few shells or fireballs.

" _Every moment tears Eleanor further from me, Delta. Soon, this father obsession will end her. You have left me without want… before you die, I will take all that you hold dear."_ Lamb was truly desperate.

The docking bay was empty when we arrived, but Camille cursed seeing smoke coming from the main floor. "Lamb's bombed out the ballast compressors," She said.

"English."

"It means the lifeboat will be too heavy to launch," Camille clarified.

"Okay, so the only way we could get that thing to rise is if we boil away the water."

Camille looked at me surprised at the knowledge. "There's not much to do around Rapture when you're 'ere for 8 years longer than you should be. Readin' distracted you from hunger too," I explained, assisting Sinclair in leaning against the viewing glass. "Eleanor and Delta must be rounding up the Little Sisters. Together, they can all boil away the water."

We felt the tremor of an explosive going off.

"That did not sound good," Sinclair comment, glancing around trying to locate where the tremors came from.

"They're starting to detonate the charges," Camille gasped, wringing her hands around the barrel of her shotgun.

"Lamb's backed into a corner. Then let's hope Eleanor and Delta hurry up. Or else getting the lifeboat to launch will be the least of our concerns," I said standing close to Sinclair.

He tried to stand up while saying, "I can help."

Camille and I pushed him back down. "Oh no you don't. You need to rest."

Another charge went off a little later while we waited; only seeing Delta and Eleanor when they crossed to the Infirmary from the Pediatric Wing. Camille bounced in place as I paced the platform, keeping a sharp eye on each entrance for anyone coming through them - hoping that it would be Delta and Eleanor instead of anyone else.

There was a burst of purple behind us and we nearly jumped out of our skins seeing Eleanor standing inside of the ballast tank. "Eleanor!" Camille called, putting her hand on the glass.

Delta came into the area shortly after and Eleanor addressed him with a nod. "Come up to the glass once you're ready for me to begin. There's no going back once we start."

About 6 Little Sisters popped up in the same Houdini manner as Eleanor and all stepped into the water to begin boiling it away with the powers ADAM had given them. "Jamie, could you help us as well?"

I looked down at Sinclair and then back at Eleanor. "Fine."

With a bit of concentration, every molecule in my body burst apart in a red mist then reformed inside the ballast tank. Camille and Sinclair jumped and I gave them a small apologetic look. "Keep him safe."

She nodded and stood close to Sinclair just as I had.

I heard Sinclair say, "Don't you worry about me. Worry about yourself, darlin'. Be careful."

"No promises!" I called back.

I repeated the same process of heating up the outer layer of my body and stepped further into the water with Eleanor and the Little Sisters. Everything was quiet at first until we heard Lamb come over the radio once again. _"You would rip my only daughter from her home and family and feed her to a world without hope. Though Utopia may die with her, I would sooner see us fall! Goodbye, Eleanor. Mother will be waiting for you."_

"Here they come, father!" Eleanor warned. "Hold them off until I can bring it to a boil!"

I heard gunshots sound off and I was tempted to look back at Camille and Sinclair, but held off so I wouldn't lose concentration on the task at hand. I tore my mind away from those thoughts and concentrated on raising the heat to bring it to a boil as fast as we could. "Nearly boiling…" Eleanor reported, looking around at the bubbles that were forming. "It's boiling! I can help you fight back, now! Use the Plasmid!"

I ignored her and dispersed again, appearing in front of Camille in time to stab my needle through the gut of a brute splicer. "You will not touch her!" I growled pushing him back and lighting him aflame.

"I've done it, Father! The ballast water is gone! Release the docking mechanism!"

Delta ran up the stairs to the controls and flipped the switch causing the pipes above us to burst. "The elevator to the lifeboat is flooded, father! We have to equalize the pressure in here or the door won't open!" Eleanor shouted launching fireball after fireball at another brute. "Destroy those glass tubes to flood the room!"

I grabbed a hold of Camille and jerked Sinclair to his feet. He held tight to my diving suit, glancing at the water pouring into the room. "When I tell you to, hold your breath," I advised, watching Delta take aim at the pipes.

The bullets pierced through the glass and each shattered, the water flooding in. When he shot the second one, I shouted, "NOW!" Sinclair, Camille and I each took a deep breath and held it as the second glass tube exploded, the room flooding instantly with water.

The pressure almost blacked me out and I looked to Camille and Sinclair to make sure they were still conscious. They were, holding tightly to my diving suit. I pulled them through the water, kicking with all my might to the elevator.

Delta grabbed a hold of my suit and pulled me faster than I could through the water and the elevator where Eleanor was waiting. Camille let out an air bubble, indicating she was losing air, I held her to me silently begging her to hang on for a few seconds longer.

The elevator rose up until we were out of the water; we all breathed in welcomed air.

The last explosive charge went off and Eleanor shouted, "The bombs! We're falling! Run!"

I pulled Sinclair with me and took off after Camille and Eleanor, Delta taking up the rear in a mad dash to the lifeboat, except… Instead of the open door to the lifeboat waiting for us, it was the open door to the lifeboat blocked by a massive amount of explosives that was mere seconds away from going off. Eleanor glanced back and disappeared in a purple mist while I grabbed a hold of Camille, yanking her to me and mimicking the same. Delta was too far away to grab, meaning we had to leave him behind.

The explosives went off and the lifeboat started to flood with water as it launched; rocketing toward the surface. Lamb was inside as well, paddling for any pocket of air.

Camille swam away from me to a cabinet, yanking it open. There were air masks inside and she handed one to me which I pressed to my mouth, breathing in sweet air.

I held tight to Sinclair as the lifeboat ascended. I removed my air mask only to press it to Sinclair's, having the share it with him due to a lack of them. Camille held to his diving suit to prevent herself from floating away as we watched Lamb drown at the hand of her daughter. I hugged Sinclair's neck and he reached up to grip my forearm comfortingly.

We had both made it. We were both _finally_ out of Rapture.

The craft broke the surface, nearly blinding us with the UV rays of the rising sun. Sinclair grasped my hand and I squeezed back as we exited the craft together, Camille right behind us with a big smile plastered on her face. She let out a sort of cheer and pulled us both into a bone crushing hug as best as she could since our suits obstructed in true attempt of pulling us closer.

Sinclair chuckled and put an arm around her back returning her embrace. I only shook my head and returned the gesture as well.

I didn't realize she was crying until I heard water drop on to my suit. "Oh Miss Camille," Sinclair chided softly, pushing her back only enough to wipe away her tears. "There's no need for tears now."

She shook her head and admitted, "I dreamed of this for years: For the two of you to finally be out of that Hell. And now here you are. These aren't sad tears, they're happy. My only fear is that I'm still dreaming."

We watched Eleanor approach Delta who laid on the walkway too weak to even move his arms, much less sit up. She knelt next to him and positioned his hands over his chest reverently. She understood he was going to die and was giving him his final respects. What shocked us was that she positioned her needle over his chest and pierced it, draining the ADAM from him.

Then it was obvious: She was absorbing his mind, taking advantage of Lamb's conditioning of her. She detached the needle from her arm and walked to the edge of the lifeboat, sitting down. "Eleanor?" I asked, holding Sinclair's hand.

She smiled. "The Rapture dream is over," She said with a widening smile.

The former Little Sisters came out of the lifeboat as well, standing behind Eleanor to gaze at the vast ocean as well. One of them handed her a doll that the young woman had made which she dropped in the water. "The world is going to change," She said as she stood up. "And in our story: Rapture is just the beginning."

Camille scooped up one of the Little Sisters that came running for her and it took only a moment to realize that it was Cindy. "Cammy!" She cried out happily when the woman's arms engulfed her.

"Thank god you made it," She whispered into the girl's blonde hair, kissing the locks reverently. She couldn't save Mark, but she saved his daughter – her goddaughter – in his stead.

Sinclair wrapped his arms around me, twirling me around to face him. "We made it," He whispered with a smile, cupping my cheek tenderly.

I smiled as well and nodded, receiving a kiss for no reason in particular. When we parted, he held my hands and said, "Now I'm goin' to do this right. Jamie Donovan, will you marry me?"

I threw my arms around his neck and kissed him passionately, only pulling away for a brief moment to answered, "Of course."

Camille's smile never wavered at the proposal, only giving me a tight hug and said, "It's good to have my best friend back."

Cindy jumped up and down claiming the role of flower girl for our wedding, though I doubted it would be that big as she was rambling off using words that I didn't think a young girl should know but Camille assured me later that it was because she was a brilliant little girl who was fascinated with code books and Mark's detective work. Explained everything about Cindy Meltzer and her father.

Things were starting to look up now that we were free of Rapture, free of the death and destruction laid waste to the desolate city and I could only pray that the city fell to ruins before someone discovered the wretched place.

My hand laced with Sinclair's and for just a moment, I could forget Rapture even happened – that it was all a dark nightmare, but that kind of dreaming was for children and I was no child.

Sinclair and I stripped ourselves of most of our diving suit, leaving only enough to cover us and disposing the rest of the items into the ocean to sink back down into the depths and rejoin Rapture from where it came. We spent most of our time basking in the sunlight until a deep-sea fisherman arrived and picked us up, a little overwhelmed with the young girls he had to fit on to his boat. He didn't ask about the lifeboat though which was a blessing all in itself. _That_ would have fun to try and explain without seeming like complete lunatics.

The hospital in Iceland was filled with choppy English speaking doctors and nurses that I swear were trying to stab the needle clear through your arm. Camille laid in the bed next to mine after a short argument with the nurses and doctors. We didn't say much except after I had awoken from a deep sleep to Camille saying I was asleep for 2 days: 'sleeping like the dead' she described. I never felt more rested after that sleep though.

I smiled wide when three people entered the room, a man making his way over to Camille as she smiled as well. "Grandmum. Grandfather," I greeted happily.

Alice darted over to the bed fast for someone of her age, taking both of my hands and kissing them repeated before pressing her lips to my forehead. She stroked my face, crying hysterically whispering my name a few times to reassure herself that I indeed was laying in the bed in front of her. Garrett took a seat on the opposite side from Alice and wrapped his large arms around me, still the same as I remember as a child, even the scars on his arms were the same, especially the crescent shaped one caused from a fishhook when he thought it was a good idea to teach a 5-year-old Jamie how to fish. His beard pressed against my face, something I still had a childlike fascination with having not dealt with many men with beards.

We stayed like this most of the day, watching crap telly or at least I thought it was since I couldn't understand most of the references, but the woman seemed funny going on various adventures with her  friend and neighbor and her Cuban husband. Alice seemed to love the show and watched it religiously, telling me all about the woman, who I learned was named Lucille Ball.

Camille even chuckled a few times at the show, holding the hand of her husband who thumbed her knuckles comfortingly. I could hear him whispering things to her, but I didn't bother to figure out what was being said. I just enjoyed the company of the two people who I missed terribly and thought of constantly in that godforsaken city.

The doctor came in a few hours later, Alice falling asleep using my leg as a pillow and Garrett snoring soundly to my left. James Bannock, husband of Camille, had left some time ago to locate a restaurant with the promise of smuggling in some food for Camille and me when he got back so we wouldn't have to eat crap hospital food. "Miss Donovan, glad to see you're awake this time," He said with a heavy accent. He gave a small smile and stood next to Alice with his clipboard tucked in the crook of his arm.

"Yes. I was exhausted," I admitted. I folded my hands over my lap and waited for him to tell me whatever it was he was going to say.

"We've done some blood work, as you know," He gestured to the shunt in my hand that had popped up when I was asleep. "I'm here with your results. Most of it involves the malnourishment we've discussed, but there is one more thing we've discovered in your blood work. Congratulations, Miss Donovan, you're pregnant."

My eyes widened at the revelation and Camille let out a shocked gasp. My hands instinctively went to my abdomen, like I was going to feel something. "Oh my god…" I whispered looking up at the doctor. "Pregnant? I didn't think I could…"

"We figure you're about 2 months along," He explained. "We'll start you on some vitamins to help with the baby's development. Again, I say congratulations, Miss Donovan."

"Sinclair. Jamie Sinclair," I corrected with a smirk. The doctor nodded and departed the room.

Camille crawled out of her bed, pulling her IV stand along with her as she gushed over the fact that I was pregnant. I returned her hug, grinning a mile wide. "You deserve this," She said letting her hand rest above where there was a baby growing. "Augustus is going to freak."

"If 'e doesn't know already."

"He's probably already arguing with nurses to let him come see the woman pregnant with his child if that's the case."

I bit my lip and gazed down at my abdomen. "I must say…" I looked back up at Camille as she spoke. "…you're handling this better than I did."

"'andling what?"

"Being on the surface again. My mental state completely fell apart. I was strapped to the hospital bed to keep me from tossing and turning with night terrors. I didn't eat most of the time. I fought when they needed to poke me with needles. I was a wreck. I spent two years in a psych clinic and yet, here you are: able to sleep like the dead for two days straight, smiling and laughing with your grandparents and just found out you're going to be a mom. I'm not ridiculing you: I'm just saying that you're made of tougher stuff than I thought."

"I'm not that tough," I said closing my eyes. "There were times I was ready to shatter. To lay down and just die. When I lost my first child, I really did break. It took Augustus a full year to get me to smile again. I was numb. But I realized that I wasn't going to let that city win. I had lost so much in Rapture… and yet I kept goin'. I didn't do it on my own though. You're tougher than I am."

"How so?"

"You made a life for yourself. You put yourself back together. _You_ did that."

Camille smiled and nudged my arm. "Flatterer."

"Not when it's truth. You're my best friend, Cam. You're all I can ask for."

She placed her hand on my good shoulder and squeezed it in a way that said ' _everything is going to be okay_ '.

She returned to her bed just as we started to hear numerous shouts in a different language from down the hallway, a few times in English, "Sir, you must stay in your room!"

"I do believe Augustus is coming," Camille commented, pulling the sheets up to her chest.

Sure enough, Sinclair came bursting through the door, making a b-line for my bed and reaching over Alice to grab my hands. The commotion woke my grandparents up resulting in Garrett getting defensive and nearly punching poor Augustus but I had stopped him quickly. Nurses came into the room in an attempt to move Sinclair back to his room, but he was having none of it. "I jus' find out that my fiancée is pregnant and you keep me from her? As she would often say: Piss off."

"Baby? Fiancée?" Garrett questioned, sizing up the man who I was to marry. I groaned and let my face fall into my hands. This was going to be interesting.

"You must be Mr. Donovan. Pleasure to meet you. I'm Augustus Sinclair, esquire." He held out his hand for Garrett to shake, but no friendly handshake came.

Alice sighed and said, "Here we go again."

Garrett interrogated poor Augustus for an hour straight, only stopping when the nurses came by to say visiting hours are over and Augustus must return to his room (which he fought and eventually won the right to sleep in the room tonight sharing my ample spaced bed – being small had its perks). Alice and Garrett both kissed my forehead goodbye vowing to return the next day through hell and high water if need be.

Sinclair settled into the space besides me, taking me comfortably into his arms. Camille had already fallen asleep, full with the greasy, surprisingly American, fast food that James had left her before departing for a motel nearby. Sinclair traced his fingers over my abdomen, making unknown patterns over the skin exposed to him. I buried my face in his neck, inhaling the slight scent of aftershave they had granted him, though it wasn't his spicy cologne.

Camille took in Eleanor, claiming to be the girl's mother so that they wouldn't ask questions of the teen's origins. James was confused at first, but eventually warmed up to the chance of finally being a father to someone, even if that someone came in the form of a teenager.

It wasn't until two months later when we were released from the hospital did Garrett finally accept Augustus with open arms and I finally met Augustus' mother.

That was a joy…

Being called a whore after a man's fortune, but Sinclair defending me made me love him all the more. He warned me to keep my smart comments to myself which was the equivalent to pulling teeth. I never wanted to deal with Josephine Sinclair any further than I had to. She scrutinized, insulted and told me everything I was doing wrong with 'being a proper woman'. My clothes, which consisted of a simple blouse and a pair of loose trousers for the swelling belly of mine, were deemed 'unacceptable in proper society' nor 'good wife material'. I finally had enough when she started going off about my large number of scars and growled to Sinclair that _we needed to_ _leave_.

He obliged, saying goodbye to his mother and taking me back to our hotel.

And like every night, he would curl around me, his hand splayed on my stomach, stroking the swollen flesh to remind himself that this was real and there was his child growing beneath the skin he stroked. The baby kicked under his touch and he grinned excitedly. I merely rolled my eyes at his antics and settled in for a restless night filled with dreams of an underwater city of nightmares.

The dreams had plagued my sleep once I had left the hospital, not enough to wake me though and disturb Sinclair thankfully. It often left me exhausted the next morning, but I would muscle through it and continue on with my day. Constantly, I had to remind myself that there was nothing that was going to harm me as the splicers would. Sure, the Surface world was just as dangerous as Rapture in its own way, but the chances of me getting gutted with a fish hook seemed highly unlikely or hearing a Big Sister screech for as long as I lived.

After that encounter with her: she came to the wedding anyways, Augustus paying for her plane ticket to the UK. She was silent during the wedding which I expected her to speak up and left swiftly once we were pronounced husband and wife. Eleanor, Camille and James stood up in our wedding, Cindy remaining true to her words as our flower girl. The rings were simple, a gold band that symbolized our marriage, giving us these titles, but to is it meant very little. To us, our bond was made in Rapture. The marriage only made it official.

Grace Alice Sinclair was born a few months later. I had broken Augustus' middle and index finger during the whole thing, Camille saying words of encouragement that had me screaming right back at her to stuff her hole with syringes. The name Grace was decided after the adamant decision on my part that I was _not_ going to name my daughter after his scrutinizing mother who didn't even come to see Grace's birth and instead named after a woman who had given me the chance to live by giving me a place to sleep and some food to eat when she could afford it. I knew not if Grace Holloway had escaped Rapture having heard no news of the Jazz singer.

My grandparents gushed over the small babe, Garrett swearing to spoil his great-granddaughter rotten. Eleanor held out her finger and for once the genius and clever woman she had become was rendered speechless when Grace took her finger in a tight grip, amazed at the strength of her. She finally muttered a congrats and left to find a doctor to ask them a million questions as she had a habit of doing.

Augustus held Grace, smiling warmly as she slept. I smiled up at him, still drowsy from the pain meds they had given me. Alice and Garrett had taken Camille, James and Eleanor to get something to eat leaving me and my loving husband alone.

He balanced Grace in the cradle of his left arm, the other reaching out and stroking my sweaty hair. "I love you," He whispered, leaning over and kissing my forehead.

"I love you, too," I said right back, my hand reaching up to stroke the nearly fully grown head of gray hair.

Grace started to cry and Augustus panicked, allowing me to take the crying child from him to feed her. He smiled as she feed contently, her cries instantly silenced.

For just a moment, I could see myself as Hawkeye: cold, paranoid, distrustful of _everyone_ until Augustus and Camille came into Hawkeye's life teaching her how to trust… love…

Eleanor was right: Rapture was just the beginning. I had survived Rapture, made it to the surface and now I had a family to call my own; a true family. I definitely looked healthier despite having just given birth, but pale skin tanned from constant UV exposure. At first I had tried to cover my scars, but Augustus would take my hands from my face and try to kiss each scar that peppered my face. I still had people who started at me, but they could piss off since they didn't know my story or who I am.

I had a second chance at life. I wasn't going to waste it.


End file.
